


SBI Angst Oneshots

by Chaotic_Neuteral



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Anxiety Attacks, Childhood Friends, Exile lmao, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Manipulation, Miscommunication, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Religious Guilt, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, mild insanity, mostly angst, no beta we die like men, tubbo as an honorary member of SBI
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28190700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotic_Neuteral/pseuds/Chaotic_Neuteral
Summary: Sleepy Bois Inc. oneshots! Please note that there are spoilers for the most recent arc.Requests: Open!
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 352





	1. Set the scene/brief explanation

Do NOT request:

-Pedophilia. I will not tolerate it.  
-Smut (this includes implied). I am just awful at writing it, and also these are real people (even if I'm writing as their in-game personas most of the time, it's still very uncomfortable for me to write real people in that way.)

DO request:

-Angst. I love to write it, and there isn't enough SBI content the whole world over. This is exactly what I wrote the fic for, and I'm running out of my own ideas.  
-Fluff. Self-explanatory.  
-Just sad content in general.  
-Casual family dynamics. (If you do request this, please elaborate on what you want specifically, as the idea is very broad)  
-Triggering content, to an extent. I will elaborate more on what this means, but feel free to ask for anything regarding (TW) suicide, depression, self-harm, eating disorders, etc.

\---

SETTING:

Most of these will take place within the game, and I will specify if they are not. Think of it as a coherent fantasy world. NONE of these events are canon or have ever happened, all of it is fabricated! (I will mark which arc each chapter takes place in, if there is no specification it means the chapter takes place in the real world)

\---

I will add CW's and TW's at the beginning of each chapter. I will not write anything triggering in graphic detail. I might generally describe it, but will not go much further. If I use a request, I WILL credit whoever asked for it. People sharing an account or playing multiple different characters will be counted and written as all different people (Mexican Dream & Quackity, Dream & Drista) 

***REMINDER THAT THIS IS JUST THEIR CHARACTERS IN THE SMP, EVEN IF THE SETTING IS IN THE OUTSIDE WORLD! I AM JUST WRITING THEIR ONLINE/DSMP PERSONAS***


	2. Home at last (exile arc) [Tommy hurt/little-no comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Anxiety/excessive worrying, past character death, implied manipulation/abusive friendship.
> 
> Just assume most of these are AU's because I do toss canon plots out the window sometimes. For example, in this chapter Dream did not (spoilers) blow up Logstedshire, but instead stayed with Tommy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (None of this is canon! Also, if the CC's say they are not comfortable with fics being written about them, tell me and this will be deleted!)

The boat rocked quietly as Dream rowed. Tommy sat quietly in the back, watching the waves roll. He held a small compass in the palm of his hand, warm from being so close to his skin and still softly glowing even after all the months and years. 'Your Tubbo', the inscription read. Tommy cracked a small grin, but a cold feeling in his gut wiped it clean. Tubbo. What if his friend hated him? What if he had all along? There were nights when Tommy couldn't sleep, tossing and turning with the thought of his friend. The needle of the compass shifted slightly, and Tommy held it out to Dream so he could adjust to face the right direction again.

They could have gone through the Nether, if Dream hadn't forbade Tommy from going in or out. It had been Tommy's own fault, honestly. He had built up a stockpile of weapons, assuming Wilbur could get them at some point after Tommy died. Dream had found it and assumed the worst. Tommy had tried to explain, he really had, but Dream had ended up forbidding Wilbur's visits entirely, destroying the Nether Bridge and stranding Tommy even more effectively. He'd lost all form of social norms, what with being away for so long, but had manged to retain a little bit of sanity with the help of Dream.

When the boat docked, Tommy got his first glimpse of L'Manburg, his old homeland, in almost three full years. New towers had been built in the place of skyscrapers apparently long gone, wooden pathways that looked old but were entirely new to Tommy had been set up, and huge, flashy homes had been added to the beautiful city. He stepped out of the boat, stomach twisting into knots. He'd been away for so, so, so long. He glanced to Dream, whose expression was unreadable under the familiar blank mask.

"Go on, Tommy. You've finally earned it." There was little emotion in Dream's voice, but Tommy knew him well enough to pick up the barest hint of a smile, of pride. Dream was proud of him. That little boost in confidence was enough to get his feet moving into the city borders.

Almost right away, he ran into Quackity. But, honestly, it didn't look anything like the Quackity he'd known for so long. Now his black hair was longer, almost shaggy, and one of his eyes was gray, a scar running over it. But the effect was still so plainly Quackity that Tommy could have cried with relief. One thing was still the same in L'Manburg: The people.

Quackity frowned, looking him up and down. "New eh? Check in with King Fundy and we can get you settled somewhere. There isn't that much great real estate anymore, but I figure there's some nice spots a little outside city limits if it's a make-or-break thing." He spouted the lines in a monotone, like he said it often. Tommy's heart sped up, palms suddenly sweaty. Where was Dream? What should he say? Should he play along? What would Quackity think if he suddenly realized Tommy had been pretending to not know him? Would he be angry? Weirded out? Where was Dream?

"Don't tell me you don't remember our friend Tommy!" Dream, finally having docked the boat properly, rested a hand on Tommy's shoulder. Tommy ached with comfort. It was a new situation but he would grab onto whatever he could hold and cling to it like a lifeline. In this unfamiliar new L'Manburg, the only lifeline was Dream, his constant companion.

Quackity's expression clouded before lighting up with recognition. He jumped, as if startled, and grinned, launching himself at Tommy. "Oh, holy shit, dude, we missed you so much! After Dream pressured Tubbo into exiling you, we could barely believe- I mean, it's been so long- and- and you're back!" 

Tommy frowned. "Tubbo exiled me himself. But it's all in the past now! I'm back, at least for a while." He glanced to Dream, wondering what the limits of his visit were. Was he BACK back, or just back? Dream nodded his head softly. Negotiable. Tommy sighed with relief. "Mind showing me to Phil's? I miss seeing him."

"Oh, for sure." Quackity started walking, acting like L'Manburg wasn't a whole new place (which, actually, it wasn't. At least not to the current resident.) "He's missed you tons as well, so has Wilbur."

"Oh, really?" Tommy couldn't help but grin, glancing back to see Dream. He still had full armor on, as usual, but his posture was more relaxed than normal. Something about being in L'Manburg seemed to calm him. Tommy smiled wider and sped up to match Quackity's pace again.

Instead of going up the staircase in town square like they used to, Quackity went left, avoiding the square entirely. Tommy still glanced over to see what was the same. He looked away pretty quick when he realized only the base layer was recognizable. New shops and stands, new posters, and new people sat around, looking like they'd been there forever. Tommy frowned, but tried to force his expression into at least a partial smile. It was a happy day. He was happy.

But intrusive thoughts crowded his mind, as if they'd been looking for a way in. Clambering over each other and shouting their presence until the racket was almost unbearable. What if Phil hates you? What if they just want you gone? Quackity is probably faking his excitement! Remember, none of them cared when you first got exiled, none of them ever visited, so why start paying attention now? They haven't seen you in years, stand up straighter! Smile more, you're happy, aren't you? They think you're being too weird.

Dream noticed what was going on as soon as Tommy slowed down, breathing uneven. He put a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Quackity, stop for a second. I need to talk to Tommy." 

Tommy's hands moved of their own accord, fingers frantically tangling and untangling. Dream bent down a little so their faces were even, and gave him a firm nod. Tommy shook his head. He couldn't be normal, not right now. They already thought he was weird enough. Weird. His friends thought he was weird. They kept going when he left, they didn't care. He only realized he was crying when he felt tears on his chin.

"Tommy, breathe. You're okay. You're okay. It doesn't matter what they think. You're going to go see Phil and it'll be just like the old times, yeah? Then you can go see Tubbo and talk to him about everything that happened. We'll fix what he broke."

"I-" Tommy paused to take a shallow breath. "I don't kno-know if I can. I don't know if I can go back in there, Dream. Phil's gonna be..... he's gonna be disappointed in me. I don't want him to think I'm a failure."

"You're no failure." Dream firmly patted his shoulders and stood, almost pushing Tommy in the door, apparently Phil's. Tommy hadn't realized they were right outside. "And we won't have any of that quitter talk. You'll be fine, talk to the old man." He closed the door behind him and leaned against the doorframe, shooing Tommy forward when he attempted to turn around and leave.

Tommy meant to call out for Phil, he did, but the man walked into the room just a second before he could. Phil dropped a few books, one of them hitting his foot, but paid no heed to it as he wrapped Tommy in the biggest bear hug of his life. Tommy froze up for just a second, not expecting the sudden contact, but cautiously put his arms around his father in return.

After a few moments of silently standing there, Phil stepped back, hands still on Tommy's shoulders. "You're.... you're real? This isn't a mean joke?" His voice sounded so tired as he glanced warily at Dream. When Dream shook his head yes, Phil made a noise somewhere between a sob and a shout, immediately pulling Tommy in again. His grip was tight, so tight that Tommy could barely breathe. He looked to Dream for support. He simply shook his head no. It was Tommy's job to keep re-meeting people.

When Phil finally detached from Tommy, he demanded to hear all about the exile, where he'd been hiding for so long, why he'd never tried to contact any of them. "It's so unlike you, Toms, to not be going a million miles an hour."

Tommy tapped his foot three times. That was supposed to be the signal to Dream that he was uncomfortable and wanted to leave, but his friend either didn't get the hint or just ignored it. "Ah, you know. Times get busy. I have had Wilbur send you a few notes, but after the Nether Bridge got dismantled he couldn't visit anymore. I suppose it's so long ago that you forgot." He shrugged at the heavy frown on Phil's face.

"There was a bridge?"

Tommy looked down at the floor. "Yep. In the Nether. It was there for..... months. I spent my first week doing nothing but building it and my house. Obsidian and cobble. It was really, really hard to miss." He stressed the last few words. They both know why Phil had never visited.

"I- nobody knew that. If any of us had known there was a bridge we would have gone over there, I- I don't know what to say. We all missed you so, so much. After Dream got you exiled, basically nobody heard from you or of you. Just... gone. Wilbur's memory isn't the greatest, but he'd tell me little things. You got a Christmas tree a few years ago, for example." Phil was obviously grasping at straws, desperate for some kind of attachment to his son.

"I also had a party that year. For Christmas. I spent days planning every little detail and activity, Wilbur left letters in chests for literally everyone, I signed them all with my name and the coordinates and how to get to my house, and nobody showed up. Nobody except Dream." Tommy dug his nails into the palms of his hands, glaring at the floor. He wanted Phil to like him, he did. "And Dream isn't the reason I got thrown out. If Tubbo, my best friend, hadn't chosen to exile me, none of this would have happened."

"Tommy, he did what he could. He tried so hard to find you, he carried that compass around every single day. He loved you, okay? You brother loved you." It was the first time Phil had ever said out loud that Tubbo was Tommy's brother, even after he raised them under the same roof. 

Tommy's head shot up, a spike of ice-cold fear shooting through his chest. "Why are you talking about him in the past tense?"

***

A few minutes later, without explaining anything, Phil and Quackity had led them to Tommy's old house. Someone had vandalized it years back, but it had been fixed, looked like what it had been before, albeit with more flowers. And the sign over the door no longer read "Tommy's House", but "The Yard". Tommy's breath froze in his chest as he turned slowly to Dream. This wasn't part of the plan, it wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't it wasn't it wasn't- Tubbo couldn't be in there. He couldn't be dead.

Phil led Tommy into the back room, which had apparently been expanded. Green grass had been grown inside, and bees floated around lazily. There was only one grave. Tommy leaned forward to read it, barely daring to breathe.

Tubbo  
Beloved friend, brother, and leader  
He died the best President L'Manburg has ever seen, and will be missed by all.

Tommy didn't realize he'd fallen to his knees until there was grass under his fingertips. One of the bees, slowly landed on the grave, looking painfully out of place. Tommy's lungs started to scream for air, and suddenly he was taking it in in huge gulps, frantic breaths that did seemingly nothing. He grabbed at his throat weakly, tears threatening to flood the room already.

Dream hadn't even come in with them, out of respect, but he was suddenly kneeling in front of Tommy, wrapping his arms around Tommy's torso while Phil watched on. Tommy buried his face in Dream's shoulder, trying to stop himself from hyperventilating. Slowly, as Dream patted his back, Tommy managed to get his breathing under control. Before anyone tried to talk, he sat up and looked towards the door, wiping his eyes.

"I want to go home. I want to go home to Logstedshire."


	3. Silence [Tommy hurt no comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to A Name for the great prompt!!
> 
> CW/TW: Suicide, depressed behavior/thoughts, funeral
> 
> The setting is real life! Obviously they're still streamers and play mc, but the story takes place outside the game.
> 
> (And also sorry for the cheesy chapter names lmao I don't wanna give away the whole plot with the title so I have to go for smthn real vague)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This level of interaction after such a short amount of time is so crazy! (The last fic I took chapter requests on was a bad things happen bingo, so I suppose that's why nobody ever requested anything, but still) Thank you for reading this, it sounds cheesy but it really does make my day to see that people are reading what I write.
> 
> Also! Yes, folks, I do know that in Techno's most recent stream he told everyone that he doesn't consider Sleepy Bois canon, but it's already been confirmed as canon by both Phil and Wilbur, (and like a ton of the fandom-) so I'm just gonna ignore it and write through the pain.

It was all getting to be so much, honestly. Tommy frowned, fiddling with the setting of the game. He hadn't found a whole lot of joy in streaming recently, he got more comments on his appearance than he did actual messages about the stream. It had only been about forty minutes, but Tommy found himself wrapping it up, pretending there was homework due.

"I've actually got a shit ton of work due tonight, and my parents are cracking down on my grades, so I gotta go." Worried messages flooded in, and Tommy forced a laugh to mask the deep frown his face wanted to form. "Don't worry! I've got a cold, spent too long outside the other day. Makes me really tired, but I need to edit so I stay up til the normal time I sleep. It's been taking a toll, but hey, whatever. I'll see you all..." He paused. When would he see them? "Soon."

Once the stream was finally over, Tommy slumped in his chair. What was there to do? He could sit on his phone.... but that seemed so colorless. He could probably go back to playing Minecraft, goodness knows he had enough work to catch up on at Techno's base, but that seemed equally boring. He could.... honestly, what could he do? Tommy's legs felt slightly numb when a new thought appeared. That was something he could do.

Dance with death, persay. Like a trial. If he won, Tommy would go back to life as usual. If he lost, it was no big deal. Not like there was much else for him to do anyway. He stumbled to the bathroom, legs slightly numb from sitting in an odd position for so long. He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out two fresh bottles of pills. Was this really how he wanted it to go? His life would be down the drain if nobody saved him. Would anyone save him? It was a real possibility that nobody would.

Which brought up the question: was life worth living? That one partially stumped Tommy. He didn't know how the rest of his life would go, but there wasn't exactly much to do, not anymore. Finish up school, and then what? Spend the right of his life just sitting there and waiting to die? Part of him knew that there were beautiful moments, that he would miss his friends and maybe they'd miss him too, but every little detail he tried to unearth seemed bland, tasteless. 

And he made a decision.

***

Wilbur jumped when his phone buzzed. A discord notification, apparently. He opened up the app and found it was Tommy who had messaged him. He smiled, seeing it was a regular, short message, probably wishing him a good day, and put the phone down.

***

Techno slept right through his notification, having spent most of his day and night doing a huge charity stream. He'd raised plenty, but the second it was over he fell onto the bed and immediately into a deep sleep. 

***

Phil was streaming when he got it. Discord sounds were off, because he didn't want to be distracted while trying to stockpile weapons for Techno and Tommy. He'd been grinding for almost two hours, still going steady.

***

Tubbo was the only one who checked. He opened his phone, saw the notification, and read it aloud. "Tubbo, I am going to miss you so much. Whatever happens, this isn't your fault. I love you like a brother and hope you'll fo-forgive me." He stumbled over 'forgive', brain going haywire before he'd even read the rest. Immediately, he messaged Wilbur, tapping just a little too hard at his phone's screen.

'Will, did Tommy just message you? He just sent me a rlly ominous message do you know if he's ok?'

Almost right away Wilbur answered. 'He sent me something but I didn't read it. Hold on let me check and see what he wrote.'

A few moments later, Wilbur started typing again. Tubbo's stomach twisted itself into a tight knot, breath stuttering. Wilbur's icon disappeared, then reappeared. He was clearly trying to form words. After another few seconds of typing and deleting, a message finally popped up. 'Holy shit'

'Is he ok do you think??' Tubbo swallowed, clenching and unclenching his hands. He stood up, needing to pace. Wilbur's next message was almost immediate.

'No'

***

Wilbur sighed, rubbing his eyes. He was stressed to the point of tears already. Techno seemed to be asleep, Phil wasn't quite done streaming, and Tubbo was practically foaming at the mouth with worry for his friend. And he knew that Tubbo had to stay out of whatever was going on, at basically any cost. He didn't want to hurt Tommy by letting his best friend see what could potentially be a very ugly scene. 

He had called Tommy's parents and left them multiple messages and voicemails, but they either hadn't seen them or didn't bother to write back. He groaned, tossing the phone down, but picking it up just as quickly when it buzzed with a Discord notification.

The SBI server. They'd made it almost as a joke a while back, but it had kept going strong and was generally active. When Wilbur opened the app he found Phil already in a VC, Techno typing in the general channel. Wilbur joined the VC, turning down his volume lest Phil was shouting.

"-bur, what's going on? Why did Tommy-"

"I don't know. I... I don't know. He sent it to Tubbo too, so it's not just us. I don't know who got the message, if they're even the same. I messaged his parents but they haven't written back. I don't know what's happening I'm worried I--" He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to get his nerves under control. "I don't know what's going on."

Techno finally joined the call. He didn't crack a joke or do his usual greeting, just jumped right into regular conversation. "So, does anyone have Tommy's family in their phones? Address?"

Techno kept going, but Wilbur got distracted by a new message. He opened it. Tubbo. Wilbur closed his eyes, taking a deep, long breath before he opened it.

'Check the news right now.'

'Wilbur'

'Wilbur'

'Wilbur'

'PLEASE CHECK NWES PLESA'

Wilbur pocketed his phone and ran to the living room, frantically fumbling for the remote. When the T.V. turned on he tapped his foot anxiously, ignoring Techno and Phil's concerned questions.

The face of a young woman, a news reporter, filled the screen. She looked... she looked sad. "-amily is devastated. They have told the press they do not want to be interviewed on Tommy's death. As Mrs. Simons said, 'This could turn into a feeding frenzy, and that's the last thing Tommy would have wanted'. That wraps up our flash news segment, so I'm sending it back to John."

The smiling face of a man replaced the woman's. "Thank you Amanda. So, tonight is-"

Wilbur shut off the T.V., hands shaking. "It's....... Phil this isn't true, right? He's not- they got the wrong-- this-" Wilbur fell onto the couch. He struggled to pull his phone from the pocket, as his hands were too weak from the shock and fear to do much of anything.

It had died completely. Just like a certain someone.

***

The funeral was nice. It would have been so in-character if it had been sunny, maybe a little too bright, but the sky had decided to cooperate with how a regular funeral should look. The clouds hung low, drizzling on the mourners.

Phil glanced around. Techno lived to far away to make it, but he was there in spirit. Wilbur was standing off to the side, eyes red and painful looking. Tubbo had almost been too miserable to climb out of bed, but he'd made it. 

Everything passed by in a shocking blur, gray and black and storm and rain bleeding together to make one sad picture and stained the inside of Phil's mind. Even if he was barely "there" the entire time, every little bit of the event would be plastered into his head for years to come. All too soon, it was time to lower the casket.

Wilbur had burst into tears, and once he started he couldn't stop. Phil wanted an excuse to run as far away as he could, so he used Wilbur as a lame excuse to climb in the car and drive them both to get doughnuts at some hole-in-the-wall place on a boring street.

They were good, unfairly so, but Wilbur was still sniffling by the time he'd finished his. Phil sighed, leaning back in his seat and glancing out the front window of the shop. "If there's any time to give us a sign, Toms, do it now. Please." Phil muttered under his breath. He held it there, pleading with the empty air to make something happen.

Nothing moved. Nothing fell out of place. But at the same time, things would never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WAS TRYING TO END THE CHAPTER FOR LIKE SIX PARAGRAPHS AND IT WAS JUST NEVER THE RIGHT TIME AFGHKSDJDJ


	4. Blue (exile arc) [Wilbur hurt no comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: References to depression, past violence
> 
> Quick self indulgence chapter! I just remembered a specific moment from the execution stream. Wilbur (Ghostbur, technically, but I don't like calling him that much) said that "blue" is supposed to suck up your sadness and only then is it supposed to turn blue. The blue he hands to people is supposed to be unused, but it's already blue. Fundy called it out, and that's what I'm referencing here.

"Actually, if I may ask, what is up with blue?" Fundy frowned, tilting his head slightly. Wilbur grinned, patting Friend on the head. Friend's blue curls were soft, but he couldn't quite feel them. A vague sense of something being there, only confirmed by his eyes. Wilbur missed being able to touch things. After a moment, he realized he still hadn't answered Fundy. 

"Well, so, a lot of people here are very sad." He passed a chunk of blue to Tubbo, reminded of Tommy and how much he had needed blue after losing his friend. Tubbo didn't have enough in the entire world, probably. "It sucks out all your sadness and then it turns blue! And then what you can do is you can throw the blue away and it's like throwing away your sadness."

"Okay, but wait. If the blue used to have no color, if it sucks up the sadness and then turns blue, how are you giving away... are you sad?" Fundy frowned, trying to lay a hand on Wilbur's arm. It passed right through, of course, and Wilbur froze up. His smile stuttered. He'd never.... never thought of it that way. Why was it blue when he handed it to people?

Nobody spoke for a moment, the silence deafening. Wilbur forced a smile, shoving down his worries. "Not now that I've got Friend!"

***

Stupid, he realized later. It had been stupid. Blue was blue. Blue was.... he touched it and it turned blue. But he wasn't sad, so where was that coming from? Wilbur felt short of breath, like he was standing at the edge of an invisible cliff. There were so many things that just didn't line up in his life. Or, more accurately, death. Alive-Wilbur would know why he was sad. Dead-Wilbur didn't remember enough to know.

He wandered for a while, just letting his feet take him wherever they wanted to. For a while, Wilbur floated around town, waving at the people he passed. But soon enough he was out, silently wandering over grassy hills that were familiar in a way they shouldn't have been. He barely walked these hills, how did he know where he was going? Why was there a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach?

Wilbur shook his head as if trying to dispel the negative thoughts. He was already dead, there really wasn't much else that could happen to him. At the very worst, he got trapped and had to try and climb his way out of some hole.

But that didn't shake the anxiety. Numbness started to crawl up his legs, a different kind than usual. This felt weakening, tiring, like moving forward was a chore. Usually they just felt untouchable, in a way. Just when Wilbur thought the insect-crawling feeling in his stomach couldn't get any worse, his legs stopped. Just stopped moving. And it would usually be a problem, but Wilbur felt, for some reason, that he was supposed to stop right there. A sense of familiarity, a mix of both freezing dread and comfortable warmth made his fingertips tingle with anticipation. 

Digging his fingers into the soft dirt of the hillside, knowing it was what he had to do, Wilbur tried to remember how he knew. What was this place? Why was it important to him? What kind of a spot could invoke such a strong gut reaction?

Finally, he broke through the wall, into a chamber only a few feet across. It had a few chests, but Wilbur didn't bother looking in any of them. His body was already moving to the spiral staircase. Wilbur didn't know how he knew it was spiral. He hurried down, feet finding the little indents where everyone used to step. Everyone. Multiple people? Wilbur frowned, who else had been here with him before?

He found out as soon as he entered the main cavern. Pogtopia. This place was called Pogtopia. A flood of memories hit Wilbur like a sack of bricks. Techno and Tommy sitting on one of the bridges while swinging their feet of the edge and laughing, the inevitable slip and fall whenever he or Tubbo walked along any of the pathways without railings, Tommy howling with laughter as he put up yet another sign that said something silly. Wilbur stumbled into the wall, spectral breath catching in his throat.

This was home.

It wasn't his house, but the memories stored here made it more of a home than anywhere in L'Manburg ever could. Determined to find more of his lost memories, Wilbur wandered down the long cavern, fingertips trailing along the bumpy walls. The further he went, the more he remembered, memories playing in his mind as if they were in the moment.

Tommy, doubled over laughing. Techno, sharpening a sword and cracking yet another vaguely offensive joke. Tubbo, awkwardly standing off to the side as Tommy.... wait, what kind of memory...? Wilbur froze, staring into the indent. This memory wasn't happy. There was Tommy, as if it were replaying for real, face red and streaked with tears, practically screaming at Techno. There was no sound to the memory, but when Tommy gestured back at Tubbo, Wilbur couldn't help but recall what the context was. There was a festival. And somehow, it had gone wrong, Techno had done something terrible. Wilbur could sense a turning point, buried under the surface.

Maybe literally buried. He hopped into the pit and slowly walked to the left-hand corner. This was it. He pushed aside some pebbles, unlatched an old chest. It was empty, something in him had known it would be, but a distinct scent remained. 

Gunpowder.

An overwhelming sense of fear swept through him immediately. Gunpowder smelled like the loss of control, like mental instability only matched by the equally unstable chemical composition of TNT. It smelled of death. Strongly. It absolutely reeked with it. Wilbur shuddered hard, slamming the lid of the chest. He clambered out of the pit, heart racing. His palms were suddenly sweaty. He didn't even know his palms could get sweaty.

Wilbur scurried through the cavern, trying and failing to ignore the new memories sprouting up. Now Tommy was sobbing into his arms as Tubbo tried to console him. Then Tommy was there again, staring blankly into space. That memory felt like the oldest he had there, probably right after-- right after Pogtopia was founded. Wilbur was so caught up with the thought of finding his oldest memory in the cave that he almost ran right into Phil.

He dodged the vision, not wanting to see what new gruesome detail it unearthed, but its hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm. Solid and real. Wilbur turned to his father, stomach twisted into a knot so tight he could barely breathe.

"What are you doing?"

Wilbur's brain immediately threw him into another memory, this one worse than all the others. A dark room, the stink of gunpowder pressing down on him like a thick fog he could barely see through. Notes scrawled on the walls in childish handwriting, he barely recognized it as the L'Manburg anthem. But the L'Manburg anthem was a happy song, he was happy when he thought of it... wasn't he?

"Phil, kill me." The words slipped out of his mouth. Wilbur had meant to ask for help, beg that this Phil pull him out of the nightmare. But then Phil was there, in the memory, face tearstained and painted with a look that could only be described as horrified. "Phil, Phil just do it."

A sword materialized in his hand. Wilbur's body moved of its own accord, pressing the weapon into his father's hands. He stepped forward, so the tip of the sword was pressing into the bottom of his ribcage. Phil tried talking, tried to protest, but Wilbur spoke over him again. "Do it. I'm so fucking tired of all of this. I'm done. I'm fucking-- I'm done. Kill me. Please, Phil, please do it."

"I-" Phil looked out at the landscape below, at the craters Wilbur recognized as the bottom half of L'Manburg. At some point in the memory, the wall had been blown open. The one with the button. The smell of gunpowder still drifted on the breeze, but it was light, airy. The TNT had been detonated. "Wilbur- I- you're my son." His voice broke on the last word, hand trembling so badly that the sword started shifting out of place.

Wilbur steadied it with his own hands, and looked Phil dead in the eyes as he moved in for a hug, pulling his father close. Phil started to sob, loud, clutching Wilbur tight, and suddenly he felt very floaty. He felt like.... he felt like a ghost.

And then all of a sudden he was back with the current Phil, sitting in Pogtopia. "Phil, I-"

" Phil, was I the bad guy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chest being in the far left hand corner of the pit is actually canon! Dream did leave the TNT in there, he showed Tommy on stream.


	5. Ghosting (exile arc) [Tommy hurt little-no comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Mentioned/heavily implied suicide, slight anxiety, depression, (wow this is just a bingo board huh) major character death
> 
> Setting: If the exile arc split off in the direction it looked like it was going to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter title is a mother mother reference. If you understood the reference then yes, you know what it says about me. MOVING ON. 
> 
> (also yes this chapter is gonna be kind of confusing that's the point sorry-)

_____ didn't know where they were. Who they were. _____ rocked slowly, hands shaking. Their arms were wrapped around their knees, but _____ couldn't feel it at all. Something about.... they didn't know. There was a kind of disconnected, floaty feeling, but _____ didn't know what they were comparing it to. The place they were in seemed very familiar, like they'd been there a million times. But _____ couldn't remember it at all. Their head was empty, filled with nothing upon nothing upon nothing. What they assumed used to be there was filled with only empty space. A few names and disconnected words floated around, but _____ had no way to know if their name was one of them.

Revolution.

Dream.

Traitor.

Brother.

Wilbur.

Dad.

Blue.

Exile.

L'Manburg.

Only one of the words seemed to be an actual name, Wilbur. But who was he? What was their relation? How did he know _____? Did he know _____? _____ floated around the barren landscape, somberly calling the only name they knew. Maybe, if they tried, someone would find them. But... what if they were all alone, forever? Was _____ dead? Were they in hell? Or maybe exile? _____ remembered the word exile. Maybe they had done something very, very bad.

It all cycled back to the sense that something was missing, something huge, besides their name and personality and memories. Something that felt like a gaping black hole in their stomach, pulsing and constantly sucking away every little shred of joy. _____ had said that out loud once, trying to figure out if the way it was phrased said anything about their personality. It only brought up a new emotion, new memory.

Dream.

There it was again, dream. It seemed different then everything else _____ remembered. They spent hours sitting by a pool of the warming red-gold substance, trying to remember. That was a bad day. _____ had picked themself up and gotten moving again after, and hadn't stopped constantly pushing forward since. Eventually they had hit a huge rock wall, and had to turn around.

As time passed, _____ recognized more and more, without knowing how. They had spent barely any time in this area, after they woke up lying on the shore and a primal fear had washed over them, so strong they leapt up, screaming. _____ kept bracing for that impact again, the moment when a spike of icy pain would slam into their chest and send them scurrying away, but it never came.

***

_____ found a bridge. They just knew it was a bridge, there was nothing else it could be. _____ spent a few minutes jumping for joy with the excitement of finally knowing something, anything. They clambered up and wandered for a while, staring at the gravelly black rock they hadn't seen anywhere else thus far. It was mesmerizing, almost, in its deep intensity. Nothing was ever dark as obsidian where _____ was.

Obsidian!

_____ added that to their list. Grinning, doing a funny little dance, before realizing someone else was on the bridge. _____ stared. The stranger wore a suit, black hair styled. For whatever reason, _____ wanted to laugh, this person's hair shouldn't be styled. The stranger, looking self-conscious, tugged on a beanie. Their red-rimmed eyes slid off _____ as they passed.

"Hi, Wilbur. I'm not in the mood to talk right now."

Wait, wait! Wilbur hadn't known their name until now! Stomach knotted with nerves, Wilbur reached for the stranger's arm... and passed right through. Now that their hand was side-by-side with this person's, Wilbur realized they were translucent. It hadn't been noticeable before, but it certainly was next to a flesh-and-blood human. That flesh-and-blood human stopped dead in their tracks, eyes landing on Wilbur for the first time.

"......Tommy?"

"I thought," _____ tried, no longer sure of their name, "I thought my name was Wilbur."

"Toms, I can't hear you. Wait, jesus, fuck, oh shit- we just had your funeral. Me, Wilbur, and Niki, just us." The black-haired-man's voice rose in pitch and intensity. _____ flinched. "They think you're gone- gone, we thought Dream shoved you in the lava to die, wait- how are you here? What are you doing in the Nether? C'mon, we have to go back to L'Manburg, everyone misses you so much-"

_____ stepped back. Words, new words, were flooding in. Lava. Funeral. Nether. Dream, used as a name. And then the person talking to... Wilbur? Tommy? Toms? What was their name? "I...."

Then someone else was there, someone who looked just like them. There was a name for this person, _____ knew it. If they just reached..... maybe they could find it.... they looked at the other ghost, mind racing. Yellow sweater. Black pants. A grayish tint to his skin. His! This ghost was a he! "I..... where am I? What's happening?" _____'s voice came out far smaller than intended, but the other ghost didn't seem to mind.

"Tommy, don't be scared, okay? It's scary when you don't remember things, but I'll help you! I'm Wilbur, if you don't remember, I'm your brother. That's Quackity, he just.... your funeral. We just had your funeral"

"Is my name Tommy? Am I a boy too?" _____ frantically grabbed hold of their brother's sweater, tears welling in their eyes. Answers, _____ needed answers. 

"Your name is Tommy, you're my little brother. How much do you remember?" Wilbur frowned, lowering himself to Tommy's height. Something about the gesture felt familiar, comforting in a way Tommy couldn't begin to describe. It was.... it was...... he didn't know. Tommy made a noise of frustration before going over his list like he always did, saying out loud what he knew. 

"Revolution, Dream, Traitor, Brother, Wilbur, Dad, Blue, Exile, L'Manburg. I just.... those are my words." Tommy jumped, realizing he had more to add to the list. "I- oh! Bridge, Obsidian, Lava, Funeral, Nether, Tommy, Quackity."

"Oh." Wilbur frowned. He looked sad. Tommy wanted to comfort him, but didn't know what he could say. "Is.... is that all? What about your life? Do you remember Phil, Techno?" He paused, as if trying to puzzle out whether he should finish the list. "...Tubbo?"

Tommy shook his head, tears making tracks down his face. "I- I don't remember anything. Nothing. That's it, those are my words. I woke up and started walking, didn't stop. I don't know where I am, who I am, anything. Something is wrong, I can feel that much, but when I try and figure it out, all I get is a huge blank."

Wilbur looked to the man he'd called Quackity, who was watching on in silence. "Okay, Big Q, you heard him. We should go back to L'Manburg and have him re-meet everyone! I can give him some blue, he can pet Friend, we can tell Dream the exile is over!"

"I don't know how to say this, but...." Quackity's eyes darted nervously between the two ghosts. "I can't hear him."

"Oh. At all?" Wilbur stood, frowning. Tommy's heart stuttered as he tried to keep the little flame of hope that had stubbornly forced itself into his chest alive. "Is he really quiet, or like he's not talking at all?"

"I see his mouth move, but nothing comes out. You can hear him?" Quackity crossed his arms, already moving back in the direction he'd originally come from.

"Just like normal." Wilbur frowned. "Let's still have him meet everyone, though. It'll be good." He lingered over the last word as if trying to convince himself. "Yeah. It.... it'll be good."

***

Portal. Tommy could safely add that to his list. It was utterly mesmerizing, the purple, blueish, and pink shades swirling over one another, never in the exact same pattern as last time. He could have stared at it forever, but Wilbur slowly nudged him in. Tommy wasn't sure what was going to happen, but he sat there and watched as Quackity blinked out. There was a moment of panic where he thought, for the first time, that maybe Wilbur was trying to kill him.

Before he could get out and run, however, the scenery changed entirely. Tommy stepped out of the portal, staring at an achingly familiar landscape. Towers and houses made of wood and cobble- all words for the list! - brushed the sky. He couldn't help but marvel, even after a low voice spoke just a few feet in front of him.

"Tommy, you're not allowed here." A familiar tone. Tommy didn't know who it was, but he had the distinct impression that he'd known this person for a long time. "I don't want to have to kill you."

"It's fine, George. Look." Tommy could hear the grin in Quackity's voice, and vaguely felt the odd sensation of someone swiping their hand through his upper arm. It was a numb, blurry sort of sensation. He didn't like it much. "He's a ghost now, like Wilbur."

George paused, taking a step back. "Wait, but Dream- Dream wouldn't kill him. The plan was to wait for a while longer and see if he could be useful in exile, help with a war effort. He..... how is he dead?"

"I guess not even the magical Dream is all-knowing." It seemed like Quackity was a little too happy saying that. It felt like they had history. Tommy closed his eyes, trying to conjure up an idea of what had happened. Something.... something connected to the word exile. Or L'Manburg. Or maybe revolution. That was confusing, too many words at once. Tommy sighed.

"C'mon, Toms. We should see Phil first."

"Phil?" Tommy had heard Wilbur say the name already, but had no idea of who it was.

Wilbur froze up, smile stuttering. "Our dad."

"Oh." Tommy's eyes welled with tears, and he dug nails into his palms (a reflex, he didn't actually feel anything), trying to blink them away. Why couldn't he remember? Why didn't he know his own father? "Was.... did you.... was it like this for you too?"

Wilbur started moving slowly, in the direction of the beautiful city. Tommy followed awkwardly, Quackity trailing behind. "Not... as bad, but yes. I couldn't remember parts of my past, but I knew everyone's names. Apparently I don't act the same anymore, I think I'm missing some of the key things that made me him."

"Made you who?"

"Alive-Wilbur. He's not me, not really. I don't remember him." Wilbur shrugged as if the statement didn't terrify Tommy. He didn't want to be like that, entirely detached from himself. But how else could he be? He remembered even less than Wilbur, basically nothing! Tommy's breath stuttered and he scrunched his eyes shut. He would not cry. He would not cry. He would not cry.

Before too long, he heard a dull knock. Tommy opened his eyes to see Wilbur standing at a doorway, probably the front door to Phil's house. Tommy stood awkwardly, not wanting to know what would happen when he laid eyes on the man. Would he be a stranger, or a father? Did he have a mother around? If so, was she alive? The door swung open and Tommy's thoughts were cut short.

A man stood in the doorway, smiling softly. "Hi, Wil. Doing alright? Come on in, you look nervous."

"Uh, so Phil. I don't want you to freak out or anything, but... Tommy's with me." Wilbur screwed up his face. Immediately, Phil's eyes widened with shock.

"Where? He's exiled, Wilbur, you- what happened? No, wait, don't answer that, just come inside and we can figure out a way to hide him from Dream. Is Dream after him? Does he know?" Phil jumped back, allowing Wilbur access.

"Ah, I don't know if you understand, he's..... Tommy, just show him."

Tommy stepped forward quietly, not bothering to try and console the man Wilbur had called his father. Phil all but fell to his knees at the sight of Tommy, placing a trembling hand over his mouth as if to stifle a scream. "Tommy- you- I.... Wilbur, what...." His eyes darted from person to person. "Quackity. Did you have something to do with this?" His voice hardened, Phil stood a little taller.

"No! Of course not! Just because I was a part of the Butcher's Army doesn't mean- well, I guess- no! I didn't have a part in it. I bumped into him on the bridge, thought he was Wilbur. He doesn't remember anything, I don't think."

"Not even me?" Phil's voice was shaking again, his eyes watery and cold.

Tommy shook his head mutely, uncomfortable and quiet. There was a sense of home that came with seeing Phil. It felt... right. Like he should be laughing and talking with the man. "I don't, but I recognize you. Um, I think.... you and Wilbur feel really familiar, like home."

Phil stiffened. "Wil? Wil, why can't I hear him?" His voice cracked and he darted to Tommy, trying to tug his son in for a hug, but he stumbled right through, almost falling off the side of the wooden path. He turned, tears running down his face. "I- I'm gonna fucking kill Dream next I see him."

***

Phil was basically inconsolable. Tommy obviously couldn't help, unable to touch or speak to the father he barely knew, and nothing Quackity or Wilbur could do was sufficient. The three ended up leaving in considerably lower spirits than they'd arrived in, which was honestly saying something.

Wilbur muttered something about a person named Tubbo, someone Alive-Tommy would definitely like to see. Tommy shrugged and followed close behind, folded in on himself out of self-consciousness. After his arrival was announced by George, all the residents of the city (which Tommy had learned was called L'Manburg) were walking up and giving Tommy their condolences. Which was an odd way to meet people, but at least he was seeing everyone.

A few visits had shaken him, however. A girl named Niki, who cried into her friend's shoulder while apologizing for not being there for Tommy, George pledging that he wouldn't let anything get Tommy anymore, and the only other ghost in town, Schlatt. Tommy had recognized him before anyone introduced him, a sense of hate so powerful and undeniably Schlatt coursed through him that Tommy actually turned and shouted that he wasn't going to talk to him. Wilbur hadn't been upset, surprisingly, he was just happy Tommy had gotten a new word on his own. Baby steps, he had said. Baby steps.

Tommy had re-met almost everyone in L'Manburg before they finally reached a greenhouse filled with bees. Wilbur sighed slowly, pushing open the door. "He stays here almost all the time now. Er, now meaning after you got exiled."

Tommy paused for a second before joining Wilbur and Quackity in between the two doors. "I was exiled?"

Quackity, not hearing Tommy speak, giggled and pulled the door closed. "Sorry, I forgot neither of you can do that. Um, here." He pushed open the inner door and walked in, waving for Wilbur and Tommy to follow. "Hey, Tubbs! Got someone you'd like to see!"

Just a second later, a head popped up from the downstairs area of the bee-house. He grinned and hopped up, jogging over to Quackity. He clearly hadn't seen Tommy yet, but that was a good thing. Probably. Something about the meeting made Tommy shrink back, sudden nerves twisting his stomach into knots. He had history with this person. "What's up? Who is it?"

"It's... Aw man, I'm real sorry I got your hopes up. We might wanna break this to you sitting down or something, um-"

"TOMMY!" Tubbo suddenly sprinted at him, grinning with disbelief. He held out his arms, as if for a hug. Oh. He didn't know. Tommy tried to sidestep so it would be less awkward, but Tubbo ended up running right through him anyway. He fell, catching himself awkwardly, before hopping back up. 

"...Tommy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v sorry this chapter feels like it got cut short (it did) i really wanted to finish ch. 2 and b done with it


	6. What happened here? (exile arc) [Tommy & Techno hurt/implied comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: Just some inner turmoil nothing fancy
> 
> Setting: Exile arc, no AU

Tommy and Techno raced through the sewers, not trusting that they were safe. It was a difficult existence as of late, always having to be on edge, to assume something was going wrong at all times. But it was growing more familiar. Tommy slept with a sword propped up against his nightstand, Techno kept a few splash potions on the windowsill by his bed. They never stayed in one place for too long, always kept one eye on the door. They'd made a mistake in L'Manburg, going too close to a resident. She had seen them, maybe raised an alarm.

So they ran. Techno almost missed the passage, but he grabbed the back of Tommy's shirt and pulled him to a stop. "I used this when I saved Carl." He stepped up, almost in awe. He didn't tend to go back to places that held hurt or fear, the memories always came back and clung to him like flies in syrup. "C'mon, lemme show you." 

Tommy nodded once, following Techno up into the little tunnel. They maneuvered around the awkward chunks of cement and cobble, which had been thrown up in an attempt to keep Quackity away from Carl. Techno stepped into the room, smiling. There were chests with names on them, his friends and brother's names. "These are all empty, but your names are on them. You-"

It wasn't lost on Techno when Tommy's breathing changed. Became shallower. He whipped around, finding his brother staring at him in wide-eyed horror. Slowly, almost painfully, Tommy's eyes raked across the room. He screwed them shut and stepped back, hands shaking. "Techno- I-- the final control- you..... please, we have to leave."

"Okay, okay." Techno herded Tommy from the room. They stood by the edge of the water in case Tommy threw up, but he seemed to recover a little. He said something in a forced bright voice about heading home, back to the base, but Techno grabbed him by the shoulders, forced eye contact. "No, Tommy, wait. What happened there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter pls forgive me


	7. The lost boys (L'manburg arc) [SBI fluff & hurt/comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Talk of suicide/suicidal thoughts (but only barely), i guess sadness bc i've been crying at sad fanfics for the past half hour so i'm gonna try and mirror that idk
> 
> Setting: In the time of the L'Manburg vs. SMP war. So far from canon-complaint that it's almost funny. (The chapter after might just be a part two...? No? Unless??)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO THESE HAVE BEEN WAYY TOO TOMMY-CENTRIC AND MOST OF THE REGULAR REQUESTS ARE TECHNO RELATED AND THIS ISN'T FROM TECHNO'S POV BUT IT'S WILBUR'S??

There was a knock at the door to the camper. Wilbur had been sitting inside for at least three hours, barring all entry. He was set up on the floor, paper scattered around him. He knew it wasn't a good look on him, wild hair and even wilder eyes, paired with the now-dirty uniform, sitting on the floor of a drug van amidst stacks of scribbled-on paper, ignoring his family while trying to plot a revolution. Not exactly the picture he tried so hard to paint of himself.

"Ah, come in." He tried to shuffle the loose sheets of paper into some semblance of order, but it didn't really do much.

Tommy frowned at the mess, but he didn't say anything. His own home was regularly a bigger mess. He hopped up on the counter, and Wilbur almost lectured him before realizing it was an attempt to not get mud on any of the papers. "What are you doing in here? Nobody's got a clue what the plan is tomorrow."

Wilbur chuckled dryly. "Honestly? Neither do I. All of this is just chicken scratch. I thought it would help to right down strategies Dream has used in the past, figure out some common points and how we could use them to beat him, but it's so over-the-place and missing critical information that I only have a vague outline of what he did, not how he thinks or plans or anything." He shoved at some paper, sending it across the trailer floor. 

Tommy tucked his legs to his chest, wrapped his arms around his knees, and suddenly looked all for the world like the child he was. Wilbur was suddenly reminded how young they all were. Phil was the oldest, but he wasn't willing to fight, just hiding somewhere in a cave or something. He and Techno weren't exactly wise or old, and Tommy was... a kid. Niki was a kid. Tubbo was a kid. They were a band of children and young adults. Wilbur shook off the feeling of trepidation that suddenly washed over him.

"Wilbur, I.... I don't know how to help you." Tommy's voice was low, comforting, but it didn't do much. "I wonder sometimes why we don't just leave. I know you're all patriotic and brave, but the rest of us are scared. We're stuck out here, fenced in by the walls we built. Is the plan really to live like this forever?"

"Yes! It's- we--" Wilbur broke off, trying to puzzle out what to say. "This is home. We've got- we've got you! And me, Fundy, Niki, Tubbo, even Techno and Phil are with us in spirit."

"Not physically, though." Tommy rested his chin on his knees with a small sigh. "Call me a bitch, but I'm tired. I don't want to keep doing this, you know? I wish all the fighting was over so we could go back to being happy again. Just you, me, Techno, and Phil. Remember our childhood? That was.... that was nice." Wilbur didn't bother looking up. He knew they were both tearing up.

He tried to cover his own shaky voice with a laugh. "You're still a child, Toms."

"You know what I mean." Tommy didn't bother fighting back. "I miss being safe, and warm, and happy. When we didn't have to train, weren't getting death threats all the time. When we were.... I don't know, when we were a real family."

"You don't feel like we're a family anymore?" Wilbur's head snapped up.

"I..." Tommy stared at his hands, clearly trying to hold back tears. It didn't work. His voice came out choked and watery. "I miss Phil. I miss dad. I wanna go home so we can all sit by the fire and laugh like we used to. Now Techno is off.... god, I don't even know what he's doing. And Phil's disappeared, ghost to the winds. Haven't heard from him in weeks. Maybe he's dead. I'm not sure L'Manburg is worth fighting for if it's such an unhappy place."

"Don't talk like that." Wilbur took a deep breath. "Once we win the war, everything can go back to normal. Maybe Techno can come back, cause a little chaos now and then, Phil can build a house and make it his home base so when he's not off on crazy adventures he can be with us again. It'll work out, I promise."

"How can you? If we win, the peace will be shaky so we can't rock the boat at all. If we lose, we 𝘥𝘪𝘦. Do you want to take that kind of a risk? I know you live on the edge, Wil, but that seems so..... it feels...."

"What if we left, then? What would be better? You want to sleep in the open, fight for every little thing we have, leave everything we know behind? We grew up here, what could possibly be more important than that?" Wilbur was trying to convince himself almost as much as he was trying to convince Tommy. All his own doubts had just been voiced, and after a long night of working towards a goal that was so far it might as well be the on the dark side of the moon, he was fed up.

And the convincing didn't even work. Tommy puffed up his chest, losing the childlike look he'd donned and leaning into a new, more grown-up position. "L'Manburg isn't home, Wil. It can't be home without them. And if they do come here, if we somehow win the war, what's the cost? Phil travels for fun, he'd barely be here at all. Techno, you said it yourself, he likes chaos. How long would it last before another war breaks out, before we have this same conversation again?" He sighed, slumping. "This is messing us up. We're supposed to be on the same side."

"You're right." Wilbur's voice was raw and shaky, but it was still clear, sure in itself. "Tomorrow noon, let's get the fuck out of here."

***

Wilbur waited at the south border for Tommy, bags packed. They'd visited everyone last night, informed them that was war was over, they were giving up. If Fundy, Niki, Tubbo, if they wanted to form a revolution they could, but it would be without Tommy and Wilbur. 

Tommy finally showed almost twenty minutes late, eyes red and puffy. "Tubbo wanted to say goodbye," He said simply. Wilbur nodded, he didn't need to hear anything more to understand. He stood up and put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"We'll see him again. Someday we'll come back. I promise."

Tommy nodded, but his eyes slid off Wilbur's. Untrusting. It was understandable, but a habit that needed to be broken if they were going to try and find their sibling and parent alone in the wild. Almost as soon as Wilbur finished the thought, however, Tommy locked eyes. "If you promise. Let's do this."

With a tight grin, Wilbur nodded. "Let's."

***

The first night was the roughest. Neither were used to sleeping in the open, not really. They'd camped out before, in the backyard, but this was far different. It was so unlike the warm, well lit homes they'd lived in forever. Both knew how to theoretically camp out, they had just never tried it. All that meant was that it took three tries instead of thirty to set up a tent.

After that the sailing was mostly smooth. A few arguments over supplies gone missing, some quarrels when one or both of them was dehydrated and tired. Despite it all, Wilbur found the lifestyle suited his younger brother. Tommy grew into himself out there, louder and more brash than ever before. He got braver and stronger and suddenly all the bravado over things he previously couldn't do was sometimes underselling himself. It was a shocking transformation, and almost knocked Wilbur over with its force.

TO BE CONTINUED (aaa this is actually going pretty well as far as i can tell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey! if you feel like it, gimme some sbi headcanons! idc how small, i honestly live for them :)


	8. By Light Of Day [SBI hurt/implied comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was heavily inspired by "You'll Be Gone By Morning" by Qupid! If you read this then go check it out because just WOW that ending hurt. Here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28113900
> 
> CW/TW: Past character death
> 
> Setting: no arc but set in-game

"What's Spirit Night?" Tommy grabbed at Phil's shirt, little legs working hard to keep up with his father. Phil laughed at his obvious interest, ruffling his son's hair. It was a beautiful Summer day, and they'd all slept for hours so Spirit Night wouldn't be wasted in any way. Phil wanted the kids to be conscious and lucid all night long. Some of his own favorite memories were of dancing in moonlit meadows with beautiful spirits and creatures of magic and mystery. Pixies and Faeries flitted about, softly glowing in pools of moonlight. He wouldn't miss watching his kids make those same memories for the world.

"Spirit Night is when the veil between the Overworld and the Otherworld falls. We can see other beings, people who used to roam the earth like us. They go to the Otherworld and live with Faeries and Unicorns."

Tommy looked offended, like his dad was trying to trick him. "Really?"

"Of course! I wouldn't lie about this. I love you and your siblings." In his head, Phil added on that he knew their childhoods were vastly different, but he wanted to try and makes theirs good anyway. "So I wanted to make some nice memories with you."

Techno screwed up his nose. "Are you gonna make us hold hands and chant or anything?"

Phil laughed, picking a flower and putting it in his eldest son's hair. "No chanting tonight. When the moon comes up you get to see my wife for the first time. She's going to love all of you so, so much." His voice got pinched and watery towards the end. Phil tried to brush it off with a laugh. "How sappy, right? Let's get inside so we don't get caught out here when the veil is starting to slip."

He held his sons close as sounds of gunfire and fire roared outside the house. It was all illusion, a test of bravery and smarts. Everyone knew to stay inside til sunset, and not so much as look outside until the moon was properly up. Sunset was when the nasties got out, fire and brimstone and all that. Bad things happened at sunset on Spirit Night. Phil cast a glance to the mountain of baked goods. It was a family tradition to bake for a full day leading up to Spirit Night and then pass out treats to the weary creatures. Crossing over was made easier by the veil drop, but it didn't come close to being easy, so the spirits were all tired and starving.

Finally, it was dark. The moon was up. Phil rose, hand still on Wilbur's back. His middle child was scared of the dark, and most of the time he'd be holding the boy close, but not tonight. Tonight it would hurt if he didn't see her...

Phil pulled open the door and nearly cried of joy. There she stood, in all her glory. Kristin swept him up in a hug of warmth and safety and so much love Phil almost drowned in it. When he could finally breathe right, when he was no longer crying, Phil pulled away and motioned to his boys. "I've gotten a new hobby, darling. Meet Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy."

"Yours?" Her eyes dulled just slightly, and Phil panicked. No, no, no. He loved her, he did. He missed her with all his being, there was not a soul on earth he would rather be with-

"No. Yes, but they're all adopted. I could never love another. I found them, brought them home this past year. I thought.... I thought you might like them. You always wanted kids, right?" Phil knew his voice was pleading. He'd messed up in the first few minutes, he didn't want Kristin to think badly of him... but his wife smiled wide, ghostly form glittering, before she swooped in and gave each of the boys - her boys - a swift kiss on the forehead.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful." She held Tommy's face in her hands. "You look like him." She brushed back Wilbur's hair. "You look like me." When she got to Techno, Phil was expecting a pause, a stall. The third boy had never looked an ounce like him, like her. But Kristen's smile didn't stutter. "And you... you hold yourself like Phil, like a king. I would know that stance anywhere."

She turned to him, face flushed and eyes shining brighter than Phil had ever seen them before. "I love them. Oh, I love them so, so much."

***

And she'd proven it. All night they'd danced in the swaths of flowers, braiding crowns by the light of the moon and singing silly songs with a band of rambunctious and slightly tipsy Pixies. Phil sighed at the memory, eyes pooling with unshed tears of loss.

Only Techno stood by his side now. Only Techno stared at the moon with Phil as it dipped ever lower in the sky. Only Techno held his father while they both prayed silently for their family to appear. She had visited already. She was sitting quietly by Phil's side, knowing he was grieving this loss hard and fast and strong and painful, bearing it near-silently. She knew they had not been waiting for her.

Phil heard them before he saw them. The sound of laughter, bouncing off the hillsides. A declaration of "Tag! You're it!" and an annoyed shout following. Ghostly footsteps couldn't be heard, but Phil strained his ears, trying to find the source of the sound before it was too late.

The sun rose.

***

Years. It took years. Techno had stopped coming. Phil had almost given up. Had given up, really. The flowers on the front porch were wilted. Flower crowns were long forgotten, the fields had been tilled time and time again. No more laughter had been heard after that first year, ghostly or human. 

It was only a sense of loss, a sense of responsibility, a sense of duty, that still dragged Phil out every single Spirit Night. His wife was tired of the routine as well, but she understood. She had watched the children grow up, even if her visits were few and far between. It was obvious she missed what the holiday had once been: a night of kissing and promises and quiet stories told under the stars. And truth be told, Phil missed it too. When the moon was high above them, when his eyes felt like they were burning with the need for sleep, Phil gave up.

"They're not coming back, darling. Let's go and sit together for a while, hm?"

Kristin hummed softly, not heeding his words. "Something is different this year. The crossing was easier. The land is less difficult to navigate. There will always be more Spirit Nights for us. There will only be one first Spirit Night with them."

"Let it be next year." Phil's eyes filled with tears. Of all the times she chose his sons over him, it was the night he'd cracked. Admitted what he'd known was true for years. "Please, we can wait all night next year. I need you, I need to talk to you can hug you and be the husband I should have been all this time. Please."

"It's different." She sighed, long hair falling over one eye. She flicked it back, tucking it behind one ear. "I can tell it's different, it-"

"DAD!" 

And suddenly Phil was crushed in a smothering embrace. A young face mashed itself into his back, soaking it with tears. Phil dared not breathe nor blink, praying it wasn't just a mimic. Praying it was really... "Tommy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> open ending bc if i had to write any more i would have made it a mimic and not actually tommy, which would have probably made me cry :)


	9. Jubilee Line [Wilbur hurt no comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Suicide attempt, depression, self-harm, hospitals
> 
> Setting: irl, family AU
> 
> (Also yes I only just listened to Jubilee Line for the first time don't laugh at me. Lucky it's good and definitely inspiring.)
> 
> SONG FIC

_There's a reason_

Wilbur frowned, sighing. He leaned back against the bathroom wall, staring hard at the mirror. He met his own eyes, finding them red and puffy. A blood vessel had burst in his right eye, rendering it almost demonic in appearance. He frowned, scanning over the rest of his face. Stubble he hadn't bothered to shave, quivering chin, blotchy cheeks, matted hair, oily skin. Wilbur hadn't bothered to take a shower in.... weeks. Over a month and a half for sure. He didn't think too hard about hygiene, either. Moving out had taken its toll, but there was no way he was moving back in, not like this.

_London puts barriers on the tube line_

Wilbur looked down at his hands, which were shaking. Pathetic. He immediately glanced to the razor sitting on the counter. It had been a bad choice to bring it in the bathroom. It had been a bad choice. Wilbur picked it up, hands betraying him and almost flinging it across the room. Breaths staccato and frantic, Wilbur pulled up his sleeve, wincing at the patchwork of scars. Once they'd been a pretty picture, he'd spelled out a few words, drawn a tree. He'd transitioned to orderly lines since. The purplish-red lines had started to crisscross over each other, though, in recent days. No matter.

_There's a reason_

He swiped it across his skin, watching the blood bead up along the thin slit. Wilbur sighed, a tension releasing. It had been bubbling under his skin for hours, and some of it had left his body, but not all. Usually just a few more cuts would erase it from his mind. He cut a few more thin lines, and recalled, as he always did, the promise he had made to Phil before leaving.

_London puts barriers on the rails_

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Phil had taken Wilbur's hands and looked into his eyes seriously. "I want you to stay safe and healthy for me." Wilbur had scoffed, slightly taken aback, and agreed without hesitating. Phil had nodded, relieved, and hadn't asked again. 

_There's a reason_

Before he really registered what he was doing, Wilbur had fumbled open the cabinet. He'd thought about this for so long, why not just do it? Thoughts crowded in, demanding to be heard and seen and acknowledged. He stamped them all down, afraid one might convince him to stop. Tears were running down his cheeks freely (but when weren't they?) and Wilbur could hardly see as he picked up a glass, filled it with water, and stared down at the almost full bottle of strong painkillers. 

_London puts barriers of the tube line_

He had to. He had to. The promise meant absolutely shit now, he hadn't heard from his father or his brothers in months, they weren't going to visit for ages, there was nothing he had to look forward to anymore. There was nothing waiting for him "at the other end of the tunnel", no bright light. There would be no more soft family hugs, no more quiet nights spent sitting together by the fire. He wasn't a kid anymore, and even if he was they still didn't want him.

_There's a reason_

He poured some pills into his hand. Six or seven. Wilbur shoved them into his mouth and took a big gulp of water. They went down as easily as you would expect. There were several more coughing, choking swallows.... and the bottle sat empty. The glass, which had been refilled multiple times, sat empty on the side of the sink. Blood ran down the drain, stained the white tiles red. Dark red flakes fluttered to the ground when Wilbur put his hands on his head. What could he do, what could he do, what...... did he even need to do?

_London puts barriers on the rails_

What was he waiting for? A life? Someone that cared? A hug? It would do fuck-all to help now. For a moment Wilbur glanced to his phone. Fully charged. He could do it. Call for an ambulance. But did he want to? What could he possibly need to stay for?

_There's a reason_

As he stared at the screen, it lit up with a call. 'Phil', the caller I.D. read. Wilbur choked on air, fumbling for it with numbing fingers. He pressed the 'receive' button frantically, eyes wild. "H-hello?"

"Hey, Wil." Phil's voice was warm, paternal. What else would it be? What was Wilbur expecting? "How have you been? My phone broke for a while, and the WiFi got cut randomly, sorry nobody's been calling. We should all visit some time, yeah? The whole family. If you want, you can invite a friend or two, but I was kind of hoping for a night like he used to have. Maybe you could play us a new song?"

_London puts barriers on the tube line_

"I..." Wilbur's voice was slurring already. "I..... 'unno. Sounds...... sound nice. Yeahhh. 'S a big happy fam'ly." He put the phone on speaker and set it down, heart thudding irregularly. His eyelids drooped. 

"Wil, what's going on? Are you sick?" Phil's voice was laced with a light concern. He was with Tommy, probably, and didn't want to scare him. Wilbur could have scoffed. The kid was, what, fifteen now? Sixteen? He'd been idolizing Wilbur since he learned how to walk. It was sweet of Phil to try and keep the tone light.

"M...... pills. Took... lots." Wilbur wanted to ramble, but his voice was being weird. "Sleepy."

"Wilbur, Wilbur, don't sleep. Whatever you do, stay awake, alright? Hold on- Tommy, lock the doors. You remember Wilbur's address? Call an ambulance for him. Okay, no, everything will be fine, just do it and stay here. Wil, Wilbur, Wil, please stay on the phone with me. Don't fall asleep. Can you tell me where you are in the house? Describe some of the things around you." There was the sound of a car door slamming, an engine starting up. Phil kept talking, but the sound got father and father away, and Wilbur's eyes wouldn't stay open. He struggled to move his fingertips, sit up, speak, but it didn't work. 

The only thing he could do was sleep.

_There's a reason they fail._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm considering making a full fic just for this song, (like uses all the lyrics, not just the last lines)  
> if i do end up doing that i'll link it here


	10. Fly away home [Tommy angst] !!LONG!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Physical abuse, implied depression, implied thoughts of suicide, panic attacks
> 
> Setting: irl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one I've been meaning to do basically since I started writing Dsmp angst, so..... yeah this has been in the works for a while. Hope you like it :)

Tommy's parents were fighting again. Of course they were. His dad had been "at work" all day and came home smelling of alcohol and another woman, while his mother had been stressed about the bills and how to pay them. Almost as soon as they were in the same room, a screaming match had broken out. Tommy's phone dinged and he groaned, hoping it wasn't an invite to..... yep. Hop on Wilbur's stream. But it was just Among Us, so he could probably get away with being muted during meetings.

He booted up his PC and opened Discord, joining the channel. Immediately he was greeted by a chorus of greetings, ranging from groans to cheers. Tommy winced, realizing it would look bad if he didn't respond, and unmuted for a split second.

"HI!" He shouted as loud as possible, hoping it covered the sound of his parents in the background. Tommy practically held his breath, waiting for someone to comment. Nobody did. They were probably used to him being loud. Blessing and curse, Tommy supposed. He copy-pasted the code and joined the game, listening to his friends chattering away without him.

"Okay, Tommy, settle this. I would totally beat Wilbur one-on-one in real life, right?" Techno was clearly trying to hold back a laugh, doing his serious-joking tone. Tommy stifled a laugh and typed in the Discord chat. He couldn't get away with shouting so loud for so long.

𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩:  
𝙒𝙚'𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙪𝙧 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨. 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙗𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙣.

Wilbur cheered, and Tommy managed a tight grin. It was.... nice, he supposed, being on call with his friends. More stressful than anything else, but at least there was some measure of comfort. Wilbur started the game amid the laughter and good-natured jokes from his friends.

Tommy sighed with relief when he got crewmate, hopefully he could die early on and not have to talk. He wandered around the map, standing on vents and wiggling suspiciously around people. After a minute or so, a meeting was called.

"Alright, is someone gonna kill Tommy or are we going to vote him off now?" Phil was bubbling with laughter. The call went quiet for a moment. Oh. Everyone had been waiting for Tommy to laugh and defend himself. "...Tommy?"

𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩:  
𝙎𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮, 𝙡𝙤𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙚. 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚, 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙮 𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙮𝙖𝙧𝙙.

"Oh. Alright, chat, calm down, his dog is just being loud." Wilbur sounded slightly annoyed. Was Tommy annoying him? An intrusive thought shoved itself into Tommy's head, entirely unwelcome. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

Before he knew it, everyone was skipping and he had bit his lip so hard that a slightly metallic taste bloomed in his mouth. Gross. Tommy frowned, trying to get back into the rhythm of playing, but the thoughts just wouldn't leave him alone. Without thinking much further, he left the game and typed in the Discord chat.

𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩:  
𝙂𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚. 𝙒𝙞𝙛𝙞 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮. 𝙎𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙪𝙮𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

𝙏𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙚:  
𝙎𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙨 2 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙠

𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙎𝙤𝙤𝙩:  
𝘼𝙡𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙮, 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

Nobody else bothered answering, even though seven others were playing. Tommy sighed, sinking in his chair, and listened for footsteps. The shouting match was still going strong downstairs. Luckily, it looked like it would stay there. It would be far worse if they decided to think about his grades or popularity. But the sound of breaking glass met Tommy's ears, and he jumped.

He was out of his room and down the stairs before he realized his feet were moving. Tommy's mother was on the floor, head bleeding, shattered glass lying around her. Tommy's eyes darted around, trying to find.... there. A broken bottle in his father's hand. Tommy's mother looked at him with fire in her eyes, and Tommy stumbled back. "Wh- what's going on?"

"Get out." His father's voice was dangerously low. "Get the fuck out." He turned unexpectedly and hurled the rest of the bottle at Tommy. It shattered against the wall right next to its intended target, so close that Tommy felt the whoosh of air as it sailed past.

Tommy scrambled up the stairs, all but slamming the door to his room. He leaned against it, chest heaving. For a moment he thought he might just be winded from the sudden movements, but he kept going and the air was getting thinner and he was getting frantic and all the air was going to his head he was flying he was floating he- was calling Phil. The phone was picked up a moment later, and Tommy could just barely hear Phil's voice over his painful, quick breaths.

"Toms? Are you okay? You left kinda suddenly earlier."

Tommy realized he was muted, and pressed the button once. Immediately, Phil's end of the line grew silent. "Tommy? That you?"

Immediately, Tommy started to sob. Big, heaving wet sobs that left him kneeling on the floor, face in the carpet, still breathing too fast too hard too fast too hard too fast too fast too fast 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵-

"Breathe. Count to ten with me, Toms. Try and slow down your breathing. Feel your blanket, hoodie, carpet, whatever. Focus on the texture, alright? Close your eyes and feel it. Count to ten, try and take only one breath a second. One. Two. Three.... come on, do it with me."

"F-four-" Tommy forced the word out in between gasps, hands shaking. He weakly rubbed the carpet, not knowing what Phil's point was with it. He tried to think about the texture and slowly realized his breathing was becoming more controlled, more even. "Se-seven..."

"Eight. Nine. Ten. Good, good." Phil's voice was smooth, calming. Tommy's breaths deepened, slowed, and eventually went back to normal. He was still sobbing into the carpet, now with a painfully raw throat, but it was a start. "Can you try and tell me what's wrong?"

"I-- I- my dad... broken glass, shouted at me, threw the- threw it at me--"

"Threw what? What's happening?" Phil's tone grew sharper. "Tommy, tell me what's going on right now."

He was angry, he had to be, he was 𝘮𝘢𝘥. Tommy winced and hit the red button before he could stop himself. His hand twitched with the need to call Phil again, talk it over- but Phil beat him to it. Suddenly it felt like maybe Phil was calling to yell at him like his father was surely going to, get angry at him for flipping out over nothing. So instead of picking up he just let it ring, switching his phone to silent mode and staring with teary eyes as it rang out. Phil tried twice more before he started to message Tommy.

He finally gave up, almost fifteen minutes and twenty-eight messages later. Tommy clicked off his phone, feeling sick. He climbed under the blankets, both bothering to get comfortable or turn off the lights. He just wanted to be warm and feel safe. The need for soft pressure on his chest, the need for a hug, was so painfully strong that he made a strangled noise out loud. When was the last time someone had actually hugged him? Tommy wasn't sure.

***

He woke up hours later, ceiling lights blinding Tommy almost immediately. He groaned, rolling over, and picked up his phone. Over a hundred Discord notifications. Why...? 𝘖𝘩. The memories came flooding back. The argument, leaving the game, not being able to breathe, Phil calling him again and again and again...... ow. Tommy's head throbbed. He chugged the water on his nightstand, not caring that it was stale. Better that than nothing.

He checked his phone- it was almost one in the morning. Fuck. That wasn't going to be fun to deal with tomorrow.

Slowly, Tommy scrolled through all the notifications.

𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙯𝙖:  
𝙂𝙪𝙮𝙨, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮

𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙎𝙤𝙤𝙩:  
𝙀𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣?

𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙯𝙖:  
𝙃𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛, 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙖 𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙘𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤.

𝙏𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙚:  
𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙙?

𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙎𝙤𝙤𝙩:  
𝙊𝙠𝙖𝙮, 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙫𝙘? @𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚?

𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙯𝙖:  
@𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠. 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙙, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮.

𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙎𝙤𝙤𝙩:  
@𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠. 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙪𝙨. 𝙅𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙫𝙘 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚, 𝙬𝙚'𝙡𝙡 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩.

The messages were from almost two hours ago, the least recent of almost a hundred. Tommy winced, and checked the vc. Lo and behold, all his friends were still on. Slowly, he dragged himself to the computer. Knees to his chest, Tommy closed his eyes with anticipation and joined the call.

Right away, everyone's icons lit up. They all shouted in excitement, the sound far too loud in Tommy's ears. He shrieked and all but threw his headphones. After taking a second to breathe, he put them back on and turned down the volume some. "Hi?" His voice sounded raw, absolutely wrecked. Everyone quieted down, concern tinting their voices when they responded.

"...Tommy?" Wilbur spoke softly, tentatively. "What's going on?"

"Yeah, Phil wouldn't explain what's happening. Are you okay right now? Are you safe?" Techno sounded like he needed sleep badly, voice gravelly and slower than usual.

"I'm safe. I'm fine. I just overreacted to Phil is all. I thought he was mad at me so I hung up and then when he- I mean, my phone died." It was a lame excuse, that much was obvious. Nobody bought it for even a second.

"Toms, that was a panic attack." Phil spoke slowly, like he didn't want to alarm anyone. "Tommy called me and when he unmuted he was in the middle of a panic attack, couldn't talk, couldn't focus, couldn't breathe. He was hyperventilating and crying pretty hard. I managed to get him calm but as soon as I asked what happened he hung up on me. And stayed online while I called and messaged him." Phil's tone turned accusatory and Tommy couldn't help but wince. Phrased that way, he sounded awful.

"Well- I mean-- I thought you were mad at me for wasting your time... or something. I don't know."

"It wasn't wasting anyone's time. We want to help you, Toms." Wilbur sounded slightly choked up. "Just tell us why you had a panic attack, okay?"

"I- I can't." Tommy rested his forehead on top of his knees with a sigh. "It's not important."

"It's important. Tommy, either you tell them or I will. I heard what you said before hanging up, I can piece together at least part of the story." Phil waited for a minute. Tommy wanted to answer, he did, but if he said anything then he would start crying and he definitely wouldn't be able to stop. "Okay, then. Something about his father and broken glass. Said his dad threw it at him. Is this true?"

The silence was way too loud. Slowly, almost painstakingly, Tommy typed in the chat. For the first time he realized he was grateful there was a group chat just for the four of them, that Phil hadn't broadcasted it everywhere.

𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩:  
𝙔𝙚𝙨  
𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚

Small noises of disgust and sadness rippled through the call. Was he bothering them? What were they angry about? Were they angry? He choked back tears, but ended up making a quiet noise out loud.

"Tommy, is this a normal thing in your house?"

𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩:  
𝙔𝙚𝙨

Techno practically growled. "Why didn't you tell us?"

𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩:  
𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙

"Scared?" Wilbur's voice was very small. "Scared of what? Us?"

"I...." Tommy tried to answer but he ended up sobbing, grabbing the fabric of his shirt until his knuckles turned white, trying desperately to stop making so much noise, stop stop stop stop his room was right next to-

A door slammed. "Fuck, fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck- 𝘍𝘜𝘊𝘒- he's coming I think hold on-" Frantically, Tommy mashed the mute key and turned down the brightness on his monitor, tossing his headphones aside. He spun around just in time for his door to be thrown open, banging loudly against the wall. Tommy winced despite himself, wiping his eyes. "Hi, dad. What's up?"

"What." His father's voice was low, dangerous. "The FUCK. Do you think you're doing."

"I- my friends wanted.... to talk." Tommy kept his eyes down, on the floor. If his dad decided to check his recent messages he would know. "I'm sorry."

"Some of us are trying to FUCKING sleep right now. You woke me up, you know that? With all your crying, you think I don't hear you? Fucking blubbering day in and day out just like your whore mother. I'm so sick of you." With a few short strides he was across the room, grabbing Tommy by the first of his shirt. "You don't get jack shit done here, you don't pay the bills you don't help around the house. You're a drain on everything, you ruined my life. You ruined all our lives."

"I'm 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, I-- I'll help I'll get a job-"

"No. It would be better for everyone if you just disappeared. Off the map, gone." He got a strange glint in his eye, and Tommy shrank back. Was he saying....? "I wasn't kidding when I said get out. I want you gone by noon tomorrow or god fucking help me I WILL kill you."

"Wait, dad, wait- you can't just-- you can't- 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-!"

A shark crack rang out. Tommy took a second to register the pain before clutching his burning cheek, tears flooding down his face all over again. Without a pause, he was pulled harshly from the chair and thrown to the ground. If he stayed there, maybe- maybe Tommy wouldn't get hurt more- but no. A heavy kick got him in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. When Tommy tried to breathe, curling up, another kick caught him right in the face.

"I never want to see you again. Get up." Tommy whimpered, trying to stop the blood from pouring out of his nose. "GET UP."

His father practically pulled him up by the hair. Tommy's scalp screamed with protest, and maybe he did as well. His dad threw him into the chair, which flew back and smacked his desk. "Dad-- I-" He could barely force words out between sobs, trying desperately to shut down and just be quiet, be still, stop fighting back.

"If I see your face tomorrow you're dead, get it? DEAD."

The door to his room slammed.

Tommy slowly, painstakingly pulled his headphones back on and turned up the brightness. He went to unmute and- fuck. "I wasn't muted."

"You weren't." Phil's voice was quiet, shell shocked. "Tommy, are you okay? What happened?"

"I....." Tommy glanced to the side, looking at everyone's icons. They were still and silent. If he just left, would anyone get upset? Tommy knew he was tired, he wasn't thinking straight, but he didn't want to be in the call.

"Tommy, I know you want to leave again. Please don't, please let us help you. One of us can come get you, pick you up from your house, okay?" Wilbur's voice sounded almost pleading. Tommy narrowed his eyes, sobs turning slowly to hiccups. Why would anyone be so eager to have him? 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. Tommy bit his tongue, trying not to make noise. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.

"Wilbur, you..... no. Don't bother picking me up, he'll change his mind in the morning. He always does this. It's really alright." Tommy was lying, there was no better way to phrase it. Flat out ignoring the truth. He was going to figure it out, and he would do it without wasting anyone else's time.

"Tommy, please, even if it's normal for you it shouldn't be. Let me take you in, please. That house isn't safe."

Tommy screwed his eyes shut, trying to think of a convincing lie. "No, it's.... my mom. If I leave he'll hurt her. I don't know what I can do, but.... I'll figure it out. If you want you can help me, but I'm not leaving." Another lie. Nothing he did stopped his father from hitting, cursing, spitting, kicking. Sell the lie, sell the lie, sell the lie. "Please. I don't want her getting hurt."

"...Okay." Techno's voice was slow, tired. "Or we could call the cops. This is illegal, you know."

"No! Don't-- don't do that. Please. Just.... I'll talk to him. This will work out. I promise, give me like..." How long would it take him to find a job? Find a place to stay? "Two weeks." That wasn't long enough, was it? He had no clue.

"If you promise you'll keep us updated constantly.... fine. Tell us if he hits you again, though, okay? If he touches you or your mom call me and we'll come get you. Deal's off if you don't." Phil's voice was tired, raw.

"I will. Thanks, Phil."

"Get some sleep, okay? And take care of any bruises." Techno's words were soft, caring, but Tommy shoved them aside still with a quiet scoff.

"Alright, mom. See you all in the morning."

A small chorus of 'goodnight's went around the call before everyone left. Tommy fell back in his chair, utterly exhausted, and stumbled to the bathroom. He slid the door closed quietly, turning the handle so it wouldn't click, and looked at himself in the mirror. Oh, god, he looked awful. Dried blood flaked off his upper lip, his right cheek was bright red from where he'd been hit (it might even bruise, Tommy realized when he poked at it). His hair was mussed up and his eyes were bloodshot from all the crying.

"What have I done?"

***

Game plan. Tommy pulled out a little notepad he'd had basically forever, and opened it to a new page. There was no chance he was sleeping.

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥:  
𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱 1: 𝘙𝘶𝘯. [𝘗𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘢𝘨/𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘴. 𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵, 𝘦𝘵𝘤. 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘍𝘜𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘳 & 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬. 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴. 𝘓𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴. 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵. 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘵. 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘢𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦. 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘴. 𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵/𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯. 𝘜𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢. 𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘨...?] 𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘺.

𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱 2: 𝘓𝘪𝘦. 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 "𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯" 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 (𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳, 𝘛𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘰). 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘺. 𝘛𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱 3: 𝘑𝘰𝘣. 𝘛𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘎𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥. 𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘺𝘤𝘭𝘦.

𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱 4: 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨/𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘺. 𝘜𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘥𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵. 𝘕𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴. 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮. 𝘏𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵. 𝘈𝘴𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘗𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭.

𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱 5: 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴

Tommy froze. What would he do? He could try and extend the time by saying everything was going smoothly, but would Phil try and stop by to check? Besides that, there were only two options. Go home for real, (where his father would probably make good on the promise), or go with Wilbur (where god knows what could happen. Wilbur was, for the time being, a wild card, and the last thing Tommy wanted was to lose a good friend.)

Well. There actually was a third option.

Without looking, Tommy scribbled it down and folded the page so the fifth step was hidden. He didn't need to think about it just yet. Heaving a sigh, he plugged in his phone to charge and snuck down the stairs.

Step 1 was food. He needed bars, fruit he could eat quick, anything like that. Tommy quickly pulled a whole box of bars out, practically sprinting up the stairs. He could deal with water in a minute.

His sleeping bag was on the top shelf of his closet. Easy. Tommy pulled it down and tossed the bars in, leaving out the package. His head throbbed suddenly, but he ignored it and tiptoed back down. Bottled water. He grabbed three or four and carefully went up the steps. He breathed a sigh of relief once safe. That was all he needed to do outside his room.

Tommy grabbed a few shirts, a few pairs of pants, some socks and underwear. He pressed them as small as possible and shoved them into one of the corners. Bag was almost half full. Damnit. He checked his phone.... sixty percent charged. He had to wait longer.

Jacket, blanket, umbrella, shoes. Three of which he could only grab downstairs, on the way out. Tommy sighed with relief when he realized he could wear the jacket and shoes and easily carry the umbrella. The blanket would be tricky, but he could probably make it fit. Tommy selected a medium blanket from the bathroom closet, one that would probably keep him mostly warm, and shoved it on. Almost full.

Flashlight, he should bring a flashlight. Maybe batteries. Didn't they have a small heater tucked away somewhere? Tommy cursed when he realized it was in storage. He had quite shitty luck, apparently. Whatever. Flashlight, batteries. Turns out he had to go back down.

Tommy almost died on the spot when he heard movement in his parent's room. He screwed his eyes shut, praying it was just..... something licked his leg. Betty. Thank god. Tommy patted her on the head and silently sprinted to his room.

Heart pounding, he shoved his things in. Wait, one more thing.... he slowly looked to his prized possession. It was a stuffed hippo, a ratty old thing. He'd named it Bluey. It seemed like a billion years ago that Bluey had been soft and brand-new. He didn't even remember those days anymore.

Tommy stared at the toy and felt himself beginning to unravel again. No, no, no, no no no no no 𝘯𝘰 he would not cry. Tommy slowly picked up Bluey and buried his face in the comforting fluff. It had become matted long ago, but the feeling of holding it close was so, so relaxing. It made him feel safe, loved again.

All of a sudden the only thing Tommy could think about was Bluey lying on the cold, wet ground, dirty and mud covered and- 𝘯𝘰. That wasn't going to happen, it wasn't.... Tommy set it down. Bluey would stay at home. He sat still for a moment, trying to figure out where he could hide Bluey in case his dad decided to get rid of Tommy's things. Eventually he decided upon in his bathroom, far back under the sink. His parents rarely went in there, they had their own bathroom, and they checked under his sink even less.

His room felt wrong without Bluey in it. But then again, everything felt horribly wrong. It always did. Tommy checked the time. Almost four in the morning. He had eight hours. he could take six to sleep. He set an alarm and rested one hand on his suitcase, curling up silently and flicking off the light.

***

Tommy got barely any sleep, jolting awake at every little noise. When the alarm finally went at 10:00 off he groaned, sitting up. He had time. Slowly, Tommy dragged himself into the bathroom, closing the door behind him quietly. Toothbrush, toothpaste, he needed to add that to the list. Shit. Tommy brushed up as quick as possible and tossed his things in a little overnight bag. He could bother with face wash and all that when he was more on his feet. 10:30.

He quickly changed clothes and tugged on a thin jacket to go under his big one. Better safe than sorry. He checked the time and tossed his phone, a charger, and a charging block into his bag. 10:48.

Tommy grabbed his bag and backpack, knowing he'd need to store more as time went on, and ran. He didn't bother being quiet as he tore through the house, it was guaranteed his dad was still asleep. He grabbed comfortable, new-ish shoes from their usual spot, tossed a good coat over his arm, picked up an umbrella, and threw himself out the door before his parents even knew he was awake.

By 11:30 he had made it a decent distance from his house. Like it or not, Tommy lived in a pretty suburban area. Lucky he more or less knew his way around from when he used to "run away" after bad beatings.

Tommy found a nice spot behind a house that had stood long-abandoned, curling up under the rotting back porch. It would keep him safe and dry, that's all that mattered. Pulling out his phone, Tommy scrolled through day-old notifications, the ones he hadn't bothered to check at two in the morning.

𝙏𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙤:  
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙤𝙠𝙖𝙮?  
𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙖𝙨𝙩.  
𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮?  
𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚  
𝘼𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙚? :(  
𝘼𝙡𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙄 𝙜𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

Tommy navigated out of the DM's. He didn't want to deal with one-on-one conversations. Or conversations in general, he decided. Turning his status to invisible, Tommy quickly scrolled through the SMP messages.

𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙎𝙤𝙤𝙩:  
𝘼𝙣𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙘?

𝘿𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢:  
𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙

He didn't bother reading any more. Wilbur had brushed off Tommy so easily, casually talking about the stupid plot like it wasn't important. Trying to wrangle his emotions, Tommy opened twitter and started typing out a tweet, hoping nobody would question it.

𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮𝙄𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙩  
𝙃𝙚𝙮 𝙜𝙪𝙮𝙨! 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙠 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨.

It was.... an okay lie. He sent a bullshit explanation of the "personal reasons" to the SMP Discord, and the real explanation to Techno, Wilbur, and Phil. The different lies were gonna suck to keep track of.

But he would do it. He'd keep up with the lies and juggle them easily. Maybe Tommy would make a note of which lies specific people were being told. But not yet. For now, he was tired as hell, eyes burning with the need for sleep and rest. So he dozed off, curled up around his things.

***

Tommy awoke rather suddenly to his phone ringing. Oh, holy shit, he was freezing. Tommy groaned, picking up the call and muting himself before unzipping the suitcase so he could unfold the blanket. He turned into the familiar voice and focused on it as he tucked the warm fabric around himself.

"-doing okay?"

"I'm alright, Wil," Tommy assured his friend. "I'm perfectly okay."

"...Tommy? Are you muted?"

Oh. He'd forgotten to unmute. Tommy giggled, unmuting. He let the laugh carry through so Wilbur would hear it. "That was an accident, I muted myself. Yes! I'm totally fine. I managed to convince my dad. I'll have to get a job, and the bruises from last night kinda suck, but I'm actually feeling fantastic right now. I think all that sleep did something good for me." He forced a smile and an upbeat tone, hoping the lie would be partially believable.

"That's good to hear. Since you're feeling so great, I was wondering if you'd like to join my stream in a little bit? It's gonna be casual, nothing plot-related, so there would be no need for you to stream it yourself."

"Oh, um," Tommy scrambled for a lie. He needed to get quicker with that. "Actually, I'm grounded from playing games until I get a job. Big man shit, y'know? And anyhow, I told the whole internet I'm not streaming for 'personal reasons'. It'll be a lot easier to connect the dots if I show up on other people's streams, just without a face cam."

"I suppose." Wilbur's voice was tinted with a frown. "This feels wrong, Toms. I feel like a liar. The whole deal with your dad sounds shady as hell, you're lying to the internet and most of the SMP, god knows what shit you tell us is true, I just.... I don't know. I wish we all lived closer to you so we could see you, make sure you're okay."

Tommy winced. Wilbur was being so genuine, and he was lying straight to his face. Well, maybe not to his face. As close as they could get. "I'm sorry. I wish we lived closer too." His words sounded forced, not like how he usually spoke.

The call was silent for a moment. "I want you to be safe. We all do, you know that, right? All any of us want, Phil, Techno, Tubbo, even the people you don't interact with as much, they all want you to be safe. Please, tell me you're safe. And don't say it in your liar voice again. I want to know you're actually okay."

Tommy closed his eyes, conjured up what he imagined to be a happy family. As quick as he could, he cut the son out of the image and replaced it with himself. He smiled slowly. "I'm okay here, Wilbur. Everything is fine. I promise." The image dissolved quickly, as did the fantasy that he was alright, but Wilbur bought it. He sighed with relief and it sounded like he set down his phone.

"Okay. Okay! Thank you. I have to stream now, but I'll talk to you later?"

"Yeah, of course. Maybe I'll watch it, get your chat to bully you a little." Another lie. He was going back to sleep and staying there. But Wilbur, again, believed it. He laughed lightly, and hung up, leaving Tommy alone.

Really alone. For the first time, Tommy realized he genuinely was alone. He had barely any plan, he was sleeping under a rotten fucking porch, who was he trying to fool? It was hopeless, basically. For a moment he thought..... no. Just no. He would make it two weeks and then decide. He would make it two weeks.

***

Tommy awoke absolutely miserable. There was sweat sticking his shirt to his back, but he was shivering and freezing cold. At some point he had tossed the blanket off and had apparently been sleeping curled up in a tiny ball. He swore when he remembered what had happened, then swore again when he shifted and the sun hit him straight in the eyes through a gap in the planks.

Not the most fun way to start off a morning. Tommy groaned, feeling like his insides had been scraped out with a spoon, and poked into his bag. He picked out an apple, deciding that he'd finish the fruits first because they went bad. He chewed it, tongue dry as sandpaper, before the realization hit him.

He was alone. Alone-alone. Not sitting in his room as 3 in the morning alone, but so literally alone that even if he did tell someone what happened, it would be a bad choice for him. He choked up, setting the apple on top of his now-dirty blanket, and curled up. What had he done? What had he done? There was nothing- NOTHING that he could do. If he told Phil or Wilbur or Tubbo or Techno or anyone else he was friends with or knew, they would send him home, or put him in an orphanage, or something. So he was really and truly alone.

The ferocity with which the tears hit him was frankly shocking. One second his lip was trembling, and the next he was full-on sobbing into his knees, desperately trying to stifle the sound with his hands. Tommy's eyes were still wide open as tears ran down his face in thick streams, though he couldn't really see. His whole body was shaking, cold, hot, cold, hot cold-

His phone. He could-- Phil would help him. No, not Phil, Phil was in on it with Wilbur. Tubbo? No, Tubbo didn't know anything yet. Techno? NO, he was on Phil and Wilbur's side. Fuck, fuck, fuck, who could he go to? Who would help him and not tattle? His shaking hands pressed the call button before he had the time to think of a downside.

The phone was picked up.

"...hello?" Dream's voice was tired, kind of raw. Oh, Tommy had forgotten, Dream was American. For him, it was probably late at night. Tommy considered hanging up, but- "Tommy, breathe. Breathe. Focus on me, focus on my voice, okay? Deep breath in, deep breath out. Do it with me." He started to breathe slowly, and Tommy tried his best to match the rhythm, shuddering with every inhale and exhale.

"I--I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" He forced the words out between breaths, "I shouldn't have called you, I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-"

"If you apologize to me one more time I'll fly up there and smack you personally. Don't apologize for asking for help, ever. You needed someone, so I'm here. C'mon, let's keep going. Breathe in, breathe out."

Tommy wrapped his arms around his torso, body shaking like a leaf in the wind. After a few minutes, he wasn't crying so much as hiccuping. "I--" He considered saying sorry again, like he always did, but remembered what Dream had said. "Thank you. Really." Tommy pulled out a water bottle and chugged it, not caring that he only had a few. Before he knew it, Dream was talking again.

"So I won't ask what happened here, it's none of my business, but can I ask why you called me specifically?" Dream's tone was careful, measured, like he'd been contemplating what to say for a while.

"I..." Tommy stared hard at his hands, willing himself to keep control. "It's a long story. But right now I can't tell Phil or Wilbur or Techno or Tubbo or.... I don't know, anyone really. They're already worried about me and I don't want to make it worse. Please don't tell them? If they hear I went behind their backs and got someone else's help I'll be in trouble."

"...sure." Dream sounded like he didn't believe it one bit, but he'd said it and Tommy knew he was a man of his word.

"Okay. Thank you, again. Seriously. What time is it for you?"

"Uhhh... late. Doesn't matter. Look, you should probably start your day and I should probably sleep, so do you think you're good with hanging up? Is there anything else you need?"

Tommy shook his head before realizing Dream couldn't see him. "Er, yeah. I mean- yes we can hang up. Thank you."

"Alright, Tommy. Bye."

"Bye."

Tommy stared at his phone long after the call was over, not doing anything, until the screen went black. Then he picked it up and opened social media. He mostly wanted to clear his notifications, which were all fans telling him they would miss him for the time being but understood. Condolences for his loss (though he hadn't said anyone died) flooded his inbox.

He could only suppose people had put two and two together, though they hadn’t done it quite right. It was nice to see how caring everyone was, though. The replies to his tweet were filled with messages of “No worries, whenever you’re ready we’ll be there” from strangers, and “Hope to play with you again soon :)” from his friends.

Tommy frowned. Could he call everyone on the SMP his friends? It wasn’t like they were just aquaintences, they played together all the time and had great platonic chemistry, just… if everyone else didn’t think they were friends, thought Tommy was trying to up his viewer count when he wasn’t, then it would be horribly embarrassing for him. And it wasn’t like he could ask, because then everyone would feel pressured to say yes even if they didn’t consider him a friend. Especially now, when he was clearly not in a good state. Better to wait and ask Wilbur, who he could safely say was his friend.

Tommy hauled himself up, cursing his body for being so weak. The one time he didn’t feel like laughing at his stick-thin arms and legs. “Alright, you can do this. You can do this. Just... find a job. Easy.”

He shoved a few bars and a waterbottle into his backpack before putting it on. Tommy stretched, trying to find real motivation. It didn’t come. He’d been expecting as much. Setting his phone to silent, Tommy took a deep breath and clambered out from under the porch.

It was even brighter up top, and also colder than Tommy had initially assumed. Maybe sleeping under a porch wasn’t so bad of an idea. He was probably covered in dirt mixed with god knows what, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try and have a productive day.

There was a gas station at the corner of a more commercial area, and it was perpetually hiring, but Tommy’s dad freuqented it for the cheap cigarettes. No way he was working there. Tommy didn’t even glance at it as he walked past.

There were a few small restaurants and some shitty gift shops around, Tommy could try those. The first one he stumbled into, labeled “Nellie’s Nook”, was unfortunately full. A large family and a few teenage boys wandered around the small shop. The mother, who was bouncing a baby on her leg, frowned at Tommy. He spun around and left immediately. No real loss, the place reeked of mothballs.

The next place was more of the same. Packed full with people who sent him accusatory glares. Tommy’s feet began to hurt from walking so far, so he decided to take a seat in the little green area on the edge of town and eat a bar, appreciate the sun for a bit.

He made it there in less than ten minutes, and found his decision to be the first good one of the day. Maybe his luck really was changing. The place was kind of secluded, so there weren’t too many non-locals scattered about the area. The picnic tables were all full but there were only three and it wasn’t a make-or-break deal for Tommy, who had spent many an afternoon lying on the grass of this very same park just because it was an easy place to visit.

After he’d eaten one of the bars, Tommy tossed the wrapper and opened the water, taking a few sips. Then he nodded once and set out again, going to the one place he knew was left. It was a shop his family had used to frequent, which is why he’d avoided it thus far. But Tommy had almost run out of places, and the lady who ran it had always said Tommy had a job waiting for him if he wanted one.

The jingle of the door opening made Tommy wince. He’d wanted to move around unnoticed. Maybe if the woman kept up her promise he could take down the bell. He walked to the counter and leaned over, searching for the familiar old lady and her huge glasses. 

“Hello? Mrs. G?” Tommy called carefully. He glanced around, nerves spiking, but making noise had paid off, she appeared behind the counter.

“Ah, Tommy! My favorite boy, how are you doing? It’s been so long, you look so grown up!” She smiled warmly, reaching out to pat his head like always. With a little laugh, Tommy lowered his head so she could reach it. Mrs. G had been like a grandmother to him for quite a long time, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed her in recent years.

“Life has been…” What wasn’t a blatant lie, but not something that would be worrying? “Busy. I’ve started streaming like I told you I wanted to, got kind of famous off it.” He couldn’t help but smile at the way she lit up. Mrs. G clapped her hands, beaming.

“I’m so proud of you.”

Tommy froze up for a second. It wasn’t like he never got told someone was proud of him, but…. oh. Nobody really ever told him they were proud. “Thank you. It’s been really fun, honestly. Made some great friends that way, met a lot of nice people. Maybe I’ll show you sometime soon.”

“Please do! I can’t wait to see something that makes you so happy, Tommy. But before we go any further, what did you come here for?” She looked at him expectantly, and Tommy suddenly realized he wouldn’t get a job. Well, she might give it to him, but there was absolutely no way he was wrecking this woman’s image of him. She’d been so sweet to him all his life and he would not let her think he wasn’t living a good life.

“I…. I just came by to make conversation. I’ve missed you a lot, you know.” A sincere response, not too far from the truth. He had for sure missed her, and part of the reason he visited her shop before anywhere else was that Tommy had truly missed their talks. Mrs. G was smart, much more knowledgable than he was, and she always seemed to have great advice. Not that he could ask for advice on what he really needed help with, but the thought was there.

“Then come into the back with me! I can close up the store for a while, business has been slow. Hop behind the counter and we can sit in the break room, yeah?”

Tommy cast a glance behind him. The street was empty, neither of his parents in sight. By doing this he was wasting time, but…. “Yeah.”

***

They talked far longer than Tommy thought they would, but by the end his heart felt as full as it could possibly be. He got a huge hug and was sent home with a small tin of cookies. After thanking her far more then necessary, Tommy stepped out into the freezing cold night.

Oh. He had to find his way back to the porch… in the dark. That wasn’t going to be fun. Tommy groaned, pulling up the hood on his thin jacket, and started walking to the center of town. Lucky he knew the lay of the land. He found the right street quickly and, shivering, tried to avoid streetlamps.

His father tended to be in this area after dark, bottle in hand. Tommy winced, remembering many a night he’d put on headphones and turned up his music so loud it hurt so he could avoid hearing the shouting and screaming from his living room. He was lucky to be out. He was lucky to be out.

He was lucky to be out. It turned into a sort of mantra as Tommy walked, damp from the light rain and frozen to the bone. He was lucky to be out. He was lucky to be out. A car crept by, suspiciously slow, and Tommy sped up.

He was lucky to be out. He was lucky to be out. He was lucky….. the thought fizzled when he got back to the old house. He was sleeping under a rotting porch. He was literally fucking homeless. Which begged the question: was he better off? What could Wilbur do that would be so awful?

Make a fuss. Laugh in your face. Hang up. Refuse to help you. Tell the world what happened.

No. He would keep the fucking secret. Tommy’s nose started to run as he curled up under the now-damp blanket with a shudder. It felt gross, cold, like sleeping under a blanket of cold and wet grass. His fingers and toes were numb. The blanket didn’t help.

Vaguely Tommy realized he might have gotten messages, but - who would message me anyway? - he was too tired to check. He was asleep before the excuse even finished forming.

***

Tommy woke up cold, wet, and absolutely miserable. Faintly, he realized he must have a cold. He felt cold and hot at the same time, he was sweating under the thin jacket, and his nose was runny as all hell. On top of that, he had forgotten to eat anything before falling asleep. With a groan, Tommy picked himself up to check his phone and see the damage the night had caused.

The first thing he did was open the camera app, not yet turning his phone off do not disturb. He switched the camera and waited for it to un-blur. The second it did, Tommy turned off the phone entirely. His eyes were red-rimmed, there were heavy bags under his eyes, the red mark on his cheek had turned into a bruise. Had it really only been two days? How had everything gotten so bad? More importantly, how had Mrs. G not questioned it?

He must be sick, Tommy reasoned. He probably missed some - she doesn’t care about you - odd glances. There was a reason for sure.

He sighed, opting to ignore his predicament. He could check social media and form a new approach after his job search failed so miserably. Tommy switched off the do not disturb button and immediately his phone blew up. Thousands of tweets, messages, and missed calls flooded in. He stared in horror, what had happened? What the fuck had he done?

He quickly opened Twitter, hoping there would be some explanation. He scrolled down to the least recent tweet he’d been tagged in in the past day, hoping to find his answer there. It took a minute of searching, but he eventually got it. The person who tweeted it was a small account, not what he’d been expecting, but Tommy understood when he saw the contents of the tweet. His blood ran cold.

@TommyInnit, this you?

There was an image. It wasn’t loading. Tommy set his phone down. Surely not. It was a meme, it was a joke, it was- a picture of him. Tommy stared at it. “Oh god. Oh fuck.”

There he was, clear as day, sitting on the grass. The angle of the picture left nothing to doubt, that was him. He was even wearing his stupid signature shirt, the one he’d forgotten to change out of. The bruise was even more obvious. Tommy looked miserable in the picture, bags under his eyes, dirt smudged on his shirt, but the worst was the mark where his dad had hit him. He looked…. awful, to say the least. 

Tommy quickly opened responses to the tweet. All the oldest replies were concerned strangers, and Tommy would have loved it to stay at that. But people had started tagging big creators, spamming their usernames. And soon enough, someone on the SMP saw it. Didn’t really matter who. That was where the trouble began, apparently. Tommy felt like throwing up. He quickly tapped out a tweet, hoping to the high heavens it was partially believable.

Alright, guys, you’ve probably all seen the tweet. The one of me. Yes, that is me in the picture. Don’t worry, though. It’s SFX makeup for a video I’m filming with one of my college friends! It’s part of the reason I’m not streaming right now :)

Tommy posted it, not bothering to wait for replies, and opened Discord. There were a shit ton of messages from servers he hadn’t muted. Namely, the SMP server and the server with him, Wilbur, Techno, and Phil. 

Ph1lza:  
Guys. Check Twitter.

WilburSoot:  
I saw that already. Tommy, you good? Have you checked in with Phil yet?  
...Tommy?

The messages went on like that, Tommy found. Soon enough - they don’t care about you - they stopped. Not a huge loss, he’d have preferred them to quit talking about it, but… a little part of him was sad that his friends were so quick to drop the subject.

The SMP server was basically the same, though the conversation had turned light and joking instead of stopped. Checking the time stamps, Tommy found the changes in both servers had only been a half hour apart, the last message about him on the SMP server having been sent later. 

Tommy’s head swam. What a fucking mess. He was sick, tired, and gross, while his friends just dropped the conversation about his well being like it meant nothing to them. He stood- oh, shit, bad idea bad idea bad idea… he sat back down. Tommy’s head was fucking pounding, his legs were simultaneously weak and sore. Fuck. 

And all of a sudden it felt like too much. He wanted to cry so bad, his eyes were burning please please he just needed to cry- he could call someone. He could call Wilbur, maybe Phil, tell them what happened.

They’d turn you away. They would laugh. They’d exclude you from the group.

Tommy shook the thoughts from his head and, with trembling fingers, pressed the call button. He put the phone to his ear and tucked his knees to his chin, listening to the ringing. He was giving up, sure, but so what. He couldn’t fucking pretend anymore.

After what felt like forever, there was a small click. “Hello!” Wilbur’s voice was bright, happy. Tommy melted with relief, he thought Wilbur wouldn’t pick up at all. But he was there, on the other end of the line, and everything would be okay.

“Hi-”

“You’ve reached Wilbur. If that’s who you were looking for. Leave a message if you want, or try again later. Bye!” There was a beep, and Tommy hung up, feeling like there was a rock in place of his stomach. His fingers were numb, his toes were numb, his legs were mostly numb, his nose was numb, maybe all of him was numb. Tommy wanted to cry. He tried so fucking hard. He sat there, in the dirt, for fifteen minutes just staring at the muddy ground and willing himself to cry.

Tommy stood up, not bothering to make a noise of disappointment. He was so used to punctuating his thoughts and emotions with sound, a little sigh or a groan, but for whatever reason he decided to shove it down. He wasn’t doing it for anyone, might as well just not.

Where could he go? What was the goal? 

Medicine. Tommy recognized vaguely that he needed medicine. He could probably find painkillers at the gas station, right? But then once he was there, how would he pay? Tommy frowned, taking a left. He’d figure that out later.

The gas station was maybe a five to ten minute walk normally, but Tommy was stumbling and almost tripping over every rock in his path. It felt like a dream in that the world looked soft and fuzzy, he couldn’t open his eyes all the way, he wasn’t moving no matter how far he walked.

But maybe twenty-five minutes later, he pushed open the door. It jingled pleasantly, and Tommy frowned. He still wasn’t a fan of his entry being announced. The cashier gave him a suspicious look, so Tommy plastered a smile on and pretended to look at chips.

How could he do this? Would he have to steal it?

Something in him said yes, take it, that was the best plan. He could tuck it under his shirt and run, probably. Would that work? Would he be stopped? Could he outrun the cashier? Tommy shook the thoughts away and kept pretending to browse. He kept one eye on the cashier, who was reading a magazine. They met eyes when she glanced up to check on him. 

Okay. Game plan, game plan… Tommy reached out and snagged the bottle before he could consider more of a plan. He could….. yeah, running was the best option. He didn’t really have another great idea up his sleeve.

And with that, he took off. There was an annoyed shout from the cashier, but he shoved through the door and ran. 

Slamming directly into someone.

Tommy spun off the stranger and sprinted, barely stumbling on the curb. He glanced back and- oh. It was his father. 

How had he forgotten the reason he’d been avoiding the gas station? His dad frequented it! No time to think, no- his foot caught on a clump of dying grass and Tommy went down hard, scraping both his knee and his chin. He snatched up the bottle and scrambled to his feet. A sharp spike of pain told Tommy his left ankle was probably sprained.

Glancing around the area, Tommy found someone filming. Shit, shit- he gave a little wave, winced, then took off again. His ankle was fucked up for sure. Where could he go, where could he go, where could he go?? Frantic ideas slammed through his brain one by one, but the rhythm he was frantically trying to keep up was distracting.

Run, run, run, don’t trip over that, keep an eye out, check for cars cross the street don’t get caught on the curb dodge the jogger run run run feet on pavement wind in ears run run focus what’s the plan focus run run check for cars don’t trip keep going breathe breathe breathe-

He slammed and locked the door to a bathroom without really knowing how he got there. Something in him remembered shoving the door to a restaurant open and dodging waiters all the way through to the back, but it was more a profile of the noise and colors than it was a real memory to play back. 

Tommy slowly turned around and looked over the small room, making note of everything inside. 

It smelled of cheap soap, for starters. One of the lights kept flickering. It was made for just one person, that was lucky. What else? Some of the floor tiles were cracked. The mirror was smudged. Oh.

Tommy stepped closer to the mirror. He looked…. horrible. How had two days done so much damage? Had it only been two days? He poked at his face, and watched the reflection do the same. Damn. He had almost been hoping it was fake. Mirror-Tommy’s clothes were dirty, his shirt was torn at the shoulder, his hair was mussed and a fair amount of dirt had been rubbed into every uncovered surface. Apparently he tossed and turned a lot in his sleep. There was a cut on his chin, Tommy suddenly realized, one that stung bad when his fingers brushed over it. 

Oh, his ankle. Tommy looked down and, yes, found it swollen and red. The second he properly thought about it, it started to throb. Lucky he was in a bathroom. Tommy wet some paper towels and sat down heavily, resting the damp wad on his leg. He glanced over to the painkiller or cold medicine or whatever to read the label and see if it would work to take the edge off his current situation.

Allergy and sinus medicine. Tommy blinked back tears. It wasn’t going to help him at all to cry. But then an angry pounding came on the bathroom door, a gruff shout, and suddenly he was sobbing. His dad, the same man who had taken his mom and him to this very place for his sixth birthday, who had told Tommy he loved him forever and ever, was screaming at his son to “get the fuck out”.

Seconds blended into minutes into hours and even long after his dad had stopped being so loud and the waiter had slipped a candy under the door with a note saying he could take as long as he wanted, the guy had been in a similar situation before, Tommy was still curled up on the floor, shaking.

How could he be so stupid? How could he assume that everything was going to work out? His cold slowed him down, but the world kept on moving at the same pace. He could fall off the merry-go-round and it would keep on spinning regardless.

What was the point? What was the point? Tommy grabbed at his shirt, trying as hard as he could to rip the fabric out of anger and sadness and whatever else was burning at every inch of his skin, but it held. His arms were weak from emotion and sickness and tears. There was nothing he could do to stop crying, nothing he could do to help himself, and nothing he could do to contact anyone.

Until, Tommy realized, until he got back to the porch. He could crawl under there and feel less miserable. He would drink some water and eat some food and call someone and figure out a plan. After that, it was far easier to open his eyes, stand up, drink a few gulps of metallic sink water, splash some of his blotchy face, and open the door.

He avoided all the shocked and concerned looks he was greeted with as he walked through the main dining area. Tommy internally winced, realizing most of them probably knew him, his town wasn’t great for tourists, and that meant they knew his channel as well. His image was already in shambles.

Shoving down another breakdown, Tommy pushed through the doors, ready to face a freezing cold world.

***

After maybe fifteen minutes, Tommy realized he might not make it back to the porch before he collapsed. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt in the snow, barely able to hold himself up, and barely able to drag himself along using his one good leg.

Tommy’s fingers were numb, painfully so, and his breath was no longer enough to warm them. Could he make it back? Shaking, he fell into a lamppost. There was no way his legs would hold up. He was shaking like a leaf in the fucking wind, the possibility of him actually making it without passing out on the way was almost nothing.

A car pulled into the nearby parking lot. For a split second, Tommy genuinely considered asking whoever was inside for help. But how would that conversation go? “Hello, stranger, would you mind taking me, a homeless sixteen year old, back to the rotten porch I’m currently living under?” He could do without that awkward exchange any day.

He turned away from the car, trying his best to seem inconspicuous as footsteps went past. Or. Almost went past. At the last second they paused. There was a shout of… shock? Joy? Fear? Before hands were on Tommy’s shoulders. He yelped, twisting around, and almost fell again. He caught himself with his bad leg and went down hard, dragging his assailant with him.

Within seconds there were more… kidnappers? Thieves? It wasn’t important. What was, however, were the hands holding him down, grabbing his arms, hot and cold and hot hot hot, so hot they burned. Tommy let his body go limp. If they were going to hurt him, so fucking be it. He was still crying, how could he not be, but there was no point in fighting back. They were stronger, he couldn’t see jack shit through his tears, and even if he got away there was nowhere to run.

He tried to refrain from making noise as they put him in the backseat of the car and roared off, words or orders or something distorted. Tommy curled in on himself when someone tried to touch him again, and nobody else poked him after that.

He tried to stay awake, he really did, but the car was so warm and there was a quiet kind of background humming from the engine and someone had draped a jacket over him and god, it was just kind of nice. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as he’d first thought. Something in him screamed wrong, this was wrong, but Tommy found himself shutting it off and sighing, letting himself drift to sleep.

***

When he woke up, it was with a shout of fear. Sun streamed in through the curtains, blinding- wait. Curtains? Where was he? Tommy sat up and looked around, eyes wide. This wasn’t his house, and it definitely wasn’t the porch. He was wearing different clothes as well. Soft green pajamas. Clean. Was he clean? Tommy poked at his face and ran a hand through his hair.

Not completely, but it was far better than how he’d been before. He stood, noting there was a white bandage wrapped firmly around his left ankle, and went to the door. Before he could open it, however, someone pushed it open and Tommy remembered how he’d arrived at this place.

“Wh- who are you? Don’t come closer.” He held out his hands, waiting for the door to be pushed fully open to reveal who was behind it.

“Tommy, it’s me.” Phil’s voice. How could it be Phil’s voice? He sounded tired, worn out, but it was definitely still him. Tommy froze, staring at the door. Phil pushed it open, slowly, and held out a tray with some plain toast and water on it. “I brought you food.”

“You brought me…. how did you find me?”

Phil sighed, and set the plate down. He took a seat in a little desk chair next to the window and glanced pointedly at the bed. Tommy sat down cautiously, and tucked his good leg under him. Phil didn’t meet his eyes. “The picture. And then after that went viral, Dream called me and told me what happened. What you said.”

Tommy wrapped his arms around his chest. “He promised me he wouldn’t tell.” His voice was small, weak.

“Dream did the right thing. He knew you were in trouble, but he didn’t know how much so he agreed to your terms. As soon as he realized you were in serious danger, he called me like any good adult would.”

“He lied to me.” Tommy fought to keep the tears out of his voice. He knew he was being childish, but there really wasn’t anything else he could do at the moment. “But even when he told you, why did you come get me?”

“Because you’re important to us. Obviously. Techno was going to visit anyway, and Wil had wanted to meet up as a ground together. Maybe these aren’t the best circumstances, but we’re all together now, right?”

Tommy stared at the floor. “And you’re…. not mad at me?”

“Not at all. I’m furious with your parents, however, and disappointed that you lied to us. We trusted you to keep up your end of the bargain and immediately you broke the promise. How long were you even out there?”

“Three days, I think. It wasn’t all bad though. I found an okay spot to sleep, I talked to an old friend again.”

“Tommy, it can’t have been ‘not bad’, you were living on the streets. You can’t just- okay, this is a conversation for another day. Right now, I just want you to know we’re all here for you. Wilbur and Techno made coffee, they’re having it out in the living room, and-”

Before Phil could finish his sentence, Tommy had flown across the room and pulled him into a hug. He grabbed Phil tight and let himself be quiet for a moment when the man hugged him back. “Thank you. Really. I- I don’t know what I was going to do.”

“There’s no reason to thank me, Toms. We did what anyone would do. Here, you ready to see Wilbur and Techno?”

Tommy nodded and stepped back, wiping his eyes. He followed Phil quietly through the house, but the steps kept creaking and he fell further and further behind. Wilbur was going to be mad, this was his house, Tommy was making so much noise. He was being a bother.

“There’s nothing to worry about. Look, we’re here. C’mon.” Phil, as if sensing Tommy’s fear, slowly opened the door and stayed in front of him when they walked in.

Tommy suddenly felt very, very small. He was about the same height as Technoblade, taller than Phil, and only a few inches shorter than Wilbur, but he felt miniscule compared to all of them. Everyone but him was dressed, and there he stood barefoot, in someone else’s pajamas.

He offered Wilbur a small wave, keeping his eyes trained on a little imperfection in the wood grain. He needed something to focus on and keep his eyes away from Wilbur’s.

“Are you okay? Did you sleep well? How’s your ankle?” Wilbur immediately stood, launching into rapid fire questions. “Do you think you need medicine for anything? How’s the rest of you feeling?”

Tommy shrank back a little. “I- uh- I’m fine.” The thought that Wilbur had seen him like that, they all had, suddenly flashed through his mind. He couldn’t throw on his usual persona, make them think he was fine. He wasn’t, and they knew. “I don’t know. My ankle feels better.”

“How much do you remember from last night? You were pretty messed up.” Techno took a sip of his coffee, and he hissed, probably at how hot it was.

“I don’t know how much there is to remember, honestly.” The truth. What he didn’t know could probably be filled in, but most of his memory had gaps and he had no clue how much he was missing, if he actually was missing anything, et. cetera.

“Here, tell us what happened in the past few days. That might tell us what we need to do to help you.”

“I…. I don’t know if I can.” Tommy shoved down the urge to push away Phil’s hand from where it lay on his shoulder. “I don’t remember it all, I’m terrible with recalling things.”

“Okay. Is there anything at home that you need? We can go get it today, that’s why everyone is dressed so early.”

“I- uh. I couldn’t bring anything but the essentials, but it’s really fine I only need- wait. I….” Would they laugh at him? He needed the stuffed animal, Bluey. It was still hidden under the sink, hopefully. Tommy frowned. “There’s something I need really bad. It can’t be replaced.”

“What about your gaming stuff? You need that, right? And all your clothes? Pictures, books, old toys? You can’t just need one thing, that’s crazy talk.” Wilbur’s voice wasn’t accusatory at all, but Tommy found himself getting more nervous with every passing word. This was all so much, they were doing way too much for him.

“I-- I mean, I don’t know if I need all that, I…. this seems like too much. You don’t need to help me with all this.” He clenched his hands and stared harder at the floor.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice was strict, commanding. “Tommy, look at me.”

Tommy tore his eyes from the ground and he looked at Phil, their eyes locking together. He almost immediately wanted to look away, but Phil had asked him to do something and if someone said anything in that tone of voice then he needed to listen. Wilbur made a quiet noise, maybe sad, before Phil started talking again.

“None of this is too much. We are not doing too much. You’re not a burden, you’re not bothering us, you’re not forcing us to do this. We’re doing it because we want to, because we care about you. Okay? It’s important for you to know that.”

Tommy nodded, still keeping the eye contact. He barely dared to blink. Phil’s brow furrowed before he uttered a soft “Oh.” And pulled Tommy in for a hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what tone of voice I said that in. You don’t need to do that with us, okay? Doing what you’re comfortable with is enough.”

“I- okay.” Tommy stared at the wall, blinking back tears, and forced himself to reciprocate the hug. “Okay.”

***

Breakfast turned out to be a generally quiet affair, with a lot of coded looks passed between the adults that Tommy didn’t care enough to try and figure out. He was content with sitting quietly and eating the toast Phil had brought back from the guest room, having left it there on accident. All too soon, however, the silence was broken.

“If we want to be there and back with the sun in the sky, we should get moving.” Wilbur glanced at the clock pointedly, and Tommy couldn’t help but choke on his water when he found it was already noon. He’d kind of just assumed it was morning, but apparently he’d slept in.

Techno chugged the last of his coffee and stood. “I’m with you on that one. Tommy, want me to try and find something to wear that isn’t as hideous as the rest of Wilbur’s clothes?”

Tommy found himself giggling when Wilbur squawked, glad to find some semblance of normal. “Yeah, big man. That sounds cool.”

They jogged out, leaving Wilbur still spluttering into his cereal and Phil trying to hold back a laugh. Tommy’s smile stuck until Techno closed the door behind them, face turning serious like Tommy always imagined it did when a joke was over.

“So. Anything in particular you wanna wear? What’s your style besides that one shirt?”

“I…” Tommy found the smile dropping from his face as well. “I dunno. I don’t usually put that much thought into my appearance. Um, we can just find jeans and a t-shirt, or something. It doesn’t really matter what.”

When Techno shook his head no, Tommy found himself wondering if it had been part of a plan, making him pick what to wear. But he wasn’t entirely sure why they’d- Techno started talking. “Nah, pick. We’ve got some free time, might as well grab something cool.” 

Techno tugged open the closet and scanned over Wilbur’s shirts. Most of them were slightly wrinkled, and haphazardly hung up. Tommy pointed wordlessly to what seemed to be a plain black shirt. That would be fine, right?

Techno pulled it out and held it up, but suddenly Tommy felt fifteen times more awkward. He was asking so much, it was awkward, Techno was being so nice but he didn’t want to be a bother it was really nothing serious… “Ah, I can pick one myself? Like, you don’t need to be in here with me. Promise I won’t steal his left socks.”

The joke fell flat, but at least Techno shrugged and left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Tommy sighed, and sat down on the carpet. It felt so wrong to be in someone else’s house, it felt so much like a drain on them. He eyed the window longingly. Wilbur’s bedroom wasn’t on the second floor, he could easily jump…. no, Wilbur would skin him alive.

“Right, then.” Tommy forced himself to stand, wincing slightly as he put too much pressure on his ankle, and took a gray shirt off a hanger. This one was fine, yeah? He stared at it for a few seconds, trying to figure out if it was a nice shirt, if it was expensive, if they would judge him for picking it. The last thing Tommy wanted was to come across as conceited to his friends, especially when they were being so nice to him.

The shirt was fine. He switched the green pajama shirt out for it, wincing when he found a bruise on the right side of his stomach, and smoothed it out with his hands. Pants were easier to find, and he was able to grab the first pair and just throw them on, not having to worry about guilt. Pants were pants were pants, nothing fancy.

“Ready to go?” Wilbur stood, not mentioning Tommy’s outfit at all. That was a relief.

Tommy nodded, and accepted the coat Phil handed him. Awkwardly, he followed his friends outside and climbed in the backseat of Wilbur’s car. It suddenly hit him, upon noticing a certain blanket, that he had been in it last night as well. He pointedly looked away, and clicked in the seatbelt.

The car ride was long and far less awkward that Tommy assumed it would be. As if everyone wanted to forget where they were going, the group fell into a routine. Laughing, jokes and silly comments, and then comfortable silence. Then back to laughing, then silence. Tommy found himself adapting to it easily, staring out the window to look for familiar landmarks.

It was only when they pulled onto a particularly familiar street that the nerves fully hit Tommy. He tensed up, realizing the severity of his situation. He was about to show up at the home of a man who had sworn to kill him, and tried to make good on the promise just a day prior.

“I-is this really the best idea?” Tommy blinked hard, trying to force back tears. “I don’t know how this is going to go.”

“It’ll be fine.” Techno put his hand on Tommy’s arm. It felt like it burned him, but Tommy forced himself to keep quiet about it. They were already doing so much. Techno seemed to understand, though, and removed his hand.

“We’re going to have to figure out an explanation, I just realized that. How do we play off the pictures and videos circulating?” Phil glanced in the rearview mirror.

“I…” Tommy stared at his lap. What could they do? Then his stomach dropped. “Wait, there’s more than one? What videos?”

Wilbur winced. Apparently that was supposed to stay a secret. “A few people recognized you last night. There are some… concerning videos going around, of your father chasing you through the street. You waved at the camera in one of them, after tripping and falling. Do you remember that?”

“Oh.” He did. “Since you’re here, maybe if we took a walk around later people would see us together and assume it was for a video?”

“What kind of video?” Wilbur’s hands were almost white on the steering wheel.

Tommy shoved down the fear that Wilbur was angry with him, that they were all upset with him, and shrugged. “Maybe a manhunt irl? Like a kind of funny parody? We could say the idea flopped and we didn’t end up posting the final product.”

“I like that.” Techno patted Tommy’s shoulder again. “We can work with it.”

Before Tommy could answer, the car pulled to a stop. “We’re here.” Wilbur’s voice was tense and grim. Tommy’s childhood home suddenly looked menacing, like something was about to leap out of the shadows and- he just about screamed when Techno waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“Oh, sorry. We’re all climbing out now, Toms.”

Tommy nodded, not trusting his voice, and joined his friends outside. It felt far less safe without the warmth and comfort of the car. He didn’t like it.

“Do we just… knock? Will anyone be home?” Wilbur’s hands were in his pockets, eyes on the house.

“They’re probably both home. It’s not a work day for either of them, and my dad’s only out on weekends. Neither of them are asleep, they’re probably downstairs arguing or something.” Tommy went over his mental schedule. “They won’t be walking the dogs for another half-hour.”

“Oh. Okay.” Phil seemed a little unnerved that the question had received an answer. “So…. yes? We knock?”

“Yeah.” Tommy stepped up to the door, putting his fist up…. and froze. He couldn’t do it.”Can someone else…?”

Techno seemed to understand, and lightly pushed Tommy aside. He knocked heavily on the door four times and crossed his arms. There was the sound of barking, and then a squeal from the dog as it was batted with a newspaper. Some swearing could be heard, and then the lock was being opened.

As soon as the door swung open, Techno shifted his body so it was in front of Tommy, keeping him safe from his father. Tommy’s dad scowled, staring at the group of strangers. “Who the fuck are you? Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.” He tried to close the door, but Wilbur put a hand out to stop it.

“We’re here to collect Tommy’s things.”

Tommy’s dad looked dumbly between the three men. “Did the twerp manage to die?”

All three of Tommy’s friends looked like they wanted to kick his dad’s teeth in, so he waved from behind Techno. “No, I just want them back. Ju-just the essentials, though. Clothes and things.”

“I paid for all those, you ungrateful brat. You don’t own any of them.” He reached for Tommy, but Techno stepped forward.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside. We’re coming in whether you like it or not.”

“This is illegal.” His dad’s voice seemed sure, as sure as it ever did, and Tommy frowned. He had thought, for a minute there, that maybe there was something his friends could do, but apparently not. “I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

“And I’ll tell them why we’re here to pick up your son’s things. We have video and audio evidence that you fully intended to kill him.” Wilbur held up his phone proudly. “Backup copies as well.”

Tommy froze up. “You- did you record during the…?”

“During the first call? Only after your dad came in.”

Tommy frowned. He hadn’t known Wilbur did that. But was it for his good? Was anything they did for his good? Speaking of, what did they want from this? What did he have to give in return? Tommy snapped back into the conversation when his dad hit the door frame hard, making him flinch back involuntarily. Phil noticed, and put a reassuring hand on Tommy’s back.

“Let. Us. In. We won’t take or ruin anything that belongs to you.” 

“Little brat doesn’t fucking deserve it. He’s nothing but a lying, stealing, worthless-” His words were cut off by the heavy thud of skin on skin. Tommy’s dad went down hard, clutching the side of his face. “I-- you’re going to regret that.”

“I’ve never been happier to do anything in my entire fucking life, and I’m not the only one raring to go.” Techno shook out his hand, and gestured to Phil and Wilbur. One look at the fire in their eyes, and Tommy’s dad winced.

“Fine. Take his shit, I don’t fucking care.”

Phil patted Tommy’s back and pushed past him, into the house. “Mind showing me to your room? We’ve got space in the trunk for pretty much anything that isn’t furniture, and more space if we pile things on our laps.”

“You- okay.” Tommy jogged inside, past his dad. It felt freeing, in a way, to not worry when he stepped inside. For the first time in years, he felt more or less safe in his home. Ironic that he’d already left and never intended to return.

He lead Phil up the stairs and into his room. “This is…. yeah. Kinda it.” He didn’t have much as far as decoration went. A bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and his desk. Not really any posters up on the walls. There were a few pictures of him with his family as a kid, and one or two with Tubbo on one of the occasions they’d met up. Other than that, his walls were blank. “My monitors, and I guess whatever’s in my nightstand.”

Tommy opened the drawer, sifting through old junk, pretending he didn’t only want to go grab Bluey from where it was hiding under the sink. “Just some old trash in here, and-”

“Go grab the thing you came here for, Toms.” Phil spoke softly, putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Me and Wilbur can take care of everything else.”

Tommy blinked back tears and nodded, practically sprinting to the bathroom. He slammed open the cabinet doors and reached blindly, fingers brushing the back of the cabinet-

Bluey was gone. It was gone. He sat back, eyes wide. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, how had he just… trusted that it would be safe? Silently, Tommy clamped his hands over his mouth and leaned down till his forehead was on the floor. 

One last time. Just to make sure. Just to make sure. Just to make sure. Tommy reached back, tears running down his cheeks, praying he would touch-

Something soft. His fingers closed around the toy and Tommy yanked it out of the cabinet, not caring that he knocked over cleaning supplies in his haste. He buried his face in the familiar fluff and clutched the stuffed animal tight. He was going to be okay. It was going to be okay.

He sat like that for god knows how long, just holding Bluey and breathing, until someone patted him on the back. Tommy looked up, finding it was Wilbur. Wilbur offered a hand, and Tommy took it. 

“Time to go. Anything else you want?”

“Nope.” Tommy was confident in that. There was nothing else he wanted or needed. 

He barely glanced at his father on the way out.

***

“So, what do we pick?” Wilbur held up the two DVD’s, looking to Phil. Phil giggled, and pointed at the one in Wilbur’s right hand. 

“Definitely. I think it would be- c’mon, Wil, don’t laugh! That’s a great movie!” Phil threw his hands up in defeat when Techno joined in the laughter, dragging Tommy in with him. After a moment, Phil gave in and started laughing as well, rubbing his forehead with annoyance.

“God, Phil, you’re so old,” Techno joked. “I mean, how out of touch do you need to be to like- wait, hold on, I thought we were talking about the other movie! This one is great!”

Tommy started laughing all over again, so hard that he fell into Wilbur, who stopped moving immediately. “Oh, oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to.” Tommy jumped away, feeling guilty.

“Nah, it’s fine. That was comfortable. And majority wins, we’re watching this one.” Wilbur stood and popped in the disc before taking a seat, leaving a conspicuous space for Tommy to sit if he so wanted to.

And for a minute, Tommy chuckled. There was no way he was going to fucking snuggle with Wilbur of all people…. but as the opening scenes played he found himself getting more and more drowsy, until finally he was curled up, head on Wilbur’s shoulder, leaning heavily on his friend.

He was awake just long enough to hear them turn down the volume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13,809 words, everyone! It took me forever but I'm finally done!! Hope you liked it :)


	11. "I'm not him" (exile arc) [Wilbur & Tommy hurt no comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> writing this bc interaction has been down and i'm inspired. short chapter! (also this is the only ch so far where i actually call Ghostbur by his "real" name? i don't like using Ghostbur bc it's a bitch to type out, but this is from his POV so here we go)
> 
> CW/TW: Talk of suicidal thoughts, mentions of past self-harm, referenced/talked about depression
> 
> Setting: Exile arc, once again if Dream never blew up Logstedshire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOMEONE GET ME TO STOP WRITING HURT NO COMFORT ITS BECOMING A PROBLEM

"So, Wilbur." Tommy took a seat next to Ghostbur, almost slipping. They were seated on the thick walls, watching the sun set. Ghostbur contemplated correcting Tommy, but his friend looked tired and sad, so he let it be.

"Hello Tommy! How are you doing?" He grinned and swung his legs, cheerily enjoying the view and the company. Tommy huffed with... annoyance? Sadness? It was hard to tell. Ghostbur frowned, glancing over. "Everything okay?"

"I miss you," Tommy said bluntly.

"But I'm not really gone. See?" Ghostbur poked the boy in the arm, pretending not to notice the tears welling in Tommy's eyes.

"You are. This isn't you, Wil. You don't act like the same person anymore, we both know you're not-- you can't be him. And it's weird, it's wrong, you look like a damn corpse, might as well be the same person at least on the inside." 

Ghostbur took a deep breath. "Yeah, I know. It's not really fun. But I'm happy now! Alive-Wilbur wasn't that great of a person, right? I mean, he blew up L'Manburg. From what I remember he wasn't happy very often, just really good at hiding it. I think he was hurting for a long time, but that doesn't give him the excuse to do something so vile."

"Don't talk badly of him, please. If you're going to talk about yourself like you're two different people at least don't insult him to my face." Tommy clenched his hands, staring hard at the grass a few feet below. Ghostbur nodded slowly, trying to find the right words.

"I... I'm sorry. I wish I could help you." 

"Wilbur, you-"

"Ghostbur. Please. It will help you disconnect me from him." 

"But fucking hell, Ghostbur, I don't want you! I want him! I want my brother!" Tommy's words would be upsetting if his voice wasn't so shaky, if his words weren't coming out choked and wet, if he wasn't hunched over and trying desperately not to cry.

"I'm not him."

"I know. God, I know. It couldn't be more obvious. You're not him and you can't be because you don't remember enough but I want him back. I look at you and I think for a second it's really him, that you're going to laugh and ruffle my hair and call me a gremlin or a kid. And then you don't, you wave and you smile like that and it's so wrong, it's all wrong."

"If you can look past-"

"You're a stranger in my dead brother's body, Wil. I can't look past anything." Tommy's voice was dangerously close to tears. "I'm fucking sick of this, you can't help me like he could. You don't remember the thing I need help with most."

"What am I supposed to remember?" It was unlikely he knew, but there was a chance. Ghostbur wanted to try, wanted to make Tommy happy again.

"Why I wear these stupid-" Tommy gestured to his forearm, where he always had bandages. Ghostbur had always assumed they were protection from the cold, but apparently not. "-arm thingies. You- I mean, he- made me wear them so nobody would worry. We match, you know." He laughed dryly, shaking his head. "The one thing we have in common now."

"Have what?" Ghostbur rolled up a yellow sweater sleeve and stared at his arm. The more he stared at it, the less changed. His skin was smooth, maybe there were a few freckles but nothing defining. "What am I supposed to have?"

"I- you--" Tommy stared at Ghostbur's arm, and the final dam broke. "I- I hate you," He sobbed into his knees. "I hate you so much I hate you I hate you I hate you you're not him you can't be I miss him GOD fucking damn it! There's nothing more I want than him back and you hanging around like a kicked dog day in and day out is just-- it hurts." Tommy took a deep breath. "It hurts so bad. It's the reason I want to jump so bad. I want to be with him." He looked up at Ghostbur, eyes red and puffy.

He wanted Ghostbur to know something. Ghostbur was almost sure of it. But he didn't even know what he was supposed to be thinking about. As infuriating as it was, he needed to try anyway, so Ghostbur reached over and put what he thought was a comforting arm on Tommy's back. The boy flinched away, and he pulled it back, accepting defeat.

"I'm sorry, I.... I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."

"You're not him. There's nothing you can do anymore." Tommy looked disappointed before hopping off the wall. Ghostbur had failed the unspoken challenge. "Don't bother looking for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick rant incoming:
> 
> If you have written (and posted) smut of people who are uncomfortable or too young to legally consent, fuck you. Stop pretending you're a fan of these people if you're going to disrespect their boundaries so blatantly. No, I was not looking. Yes, I found it anyway. Tommy has stated for both him AND Tubbo that it is not okay to sexualize them or write smut about them. Ranboo applies here as well, because he's a minor. (Even if he hasn't explicitly stated it, he is A MINOR.)
> 
> I just want to find fics of my favorite content creators, not shit they've literally said makes them uncomfortable. If you're not sure, learn their boundaries and RESPECT THEM.


	12. Missing (exile arc) [Phil hurt no comfort]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Death
> 
> Setting: Middle of the exile arc, before Tommy left Techno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone for so long! I've been trying my hardest to finish ch. 10 and work on what's in store after that but I've been so uninspired the past few days! Hopefully I'll be out of this little slump and posting regularly again soon :)

Phil sat in his house, staring into nothing. What had gone wrong? Where had he failed as a parent? All his children had strayed so far from who they'd been before wars and politics changed them. He watched his sons grow from happy, laughing kids to broken, sad adults. He'd been halfway expecting Techno and Wilbur to change after the first war. Techno started complaining of voices. Wilbur was suddenly burdened with leading a revolution. But Tommy? Phil thought he might be able to keep his youngest safe.

He was wrong, of course. Tommy had always been bright, loud, rambunctious. A problem child, at best. But he'd been happy like that. He made friends, played like a normal kid. Sure, he started fights sometimes, but who didn't? Phil thought he might grow out of it. A foolish hope, apparently, since Tommy ended up being the cause of two wars and almost sparked a third.

Still, he had tried to hope. Maybe he could take in the kid, teach him more about how to avoid conflict, keep himself in check. No. He ended up exiled from his only home, from anywhere familiar. Nobody bothered telling Phil where his son was. At first he found solace in Wilbur's company, however ghostly is may have been, but he stopped showing up as often. Visited Techno and Tommy, wherever they were, but never remembered enough to give Phil directions.

The L'Manburg residents gave him the side-eye anytime Phil tried to do regular activities. His sons were terrorists, they whispered. His sons were monsters, so what did that say about him? What could a person infer? After all, who taught those boys everything they knew? Who raised them?

"Shut up." Phil smacked himself on the head, cursing the gods. "Get outta my head."

Wilbur had talked about the voices. He could only imagine Tommy had an issue with them as well. Phil wanted to understand his sons, but not like this. Not like this. He sat up straighter, trying to find motivation to move. There had to be something he could do, right? His only children may be bad people on the surface, but deep down he still knew them. Wilbur still laughed like a kid. Tommy probably played pranks on whoever visited him. Techno was, and would always be quick as a whip. 

So then why did he feel so down?

Phil groaned, falling back onto the bed. What was his point in life, anyway? What was he supposed to do? His kids were growing up, he couldn't pretend like he still needed to raise them right. He wasn't even good at it. He could probably fight in some war, but Tommy wasn't around to start one. Nobody that caused problems was around. With a sinking feeling, Phil realized it was just his sons that were gone. Everyone else was going about normally. Their lives had fallen right back into the enjoyable, reliable routine everyone seemed to love.

But Phil didn't have any of his own normal. All the faces that had once been familiar now seemed twisted, made more cruel by war and backstabbing and pain and blood. He'd watched from the sidelines as the people he knew died out and were replaced with strangers, and he'd done... nothing. Phil rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache bloom behind his temples. A fun side effect of being part of the Sleepy Boys family, apparently.

Among other things, a small voice whispered from the back of his mind. Phil vaguely noticed it wasn't his own. 

"Yeah. Among other things."


	13. Choose (Tommy & Tubbo hurt/comfort) [Exile arc]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE STREAMS!! 
> 
> TW/CW: Death, words like "cut", begging to die, suicide
> 
> Setting: End of the exile arc, in an AU
> 
> AU: Tommy took just one more second to choose between Tubbo and the discs

Tommy threw the disc into the chest, breathing heavily as he slammed the lid. "We did it! We've won!" He spun around, waiting for Tubbo to shout with joy, maybe try and figure out an escape plan- and was met with a sight that chilled his blood. 

Dream had an arm around Tubbo's chest and a blade to his neck. The sword gleamed with enchantments, Dream's armor was barely scratched, and Tubbo definitely looked worse for wear. Tommy drew his own blade, but held out his hands to try and negotiate. "Whoa, whoa, Dream. You don't have to-"

"Put the sword down." Dream's voice was monotone, unreadable. His face, hidden behind the mask, likely wouldn't have betrayed anything either. Tommy fought back a shiver as he remembered once having called Dream a friend.

"Dream- we can talk about this." Tommy slowly set the sword down on the snowy grass. It felt wrong to see the beautiful blade lying in the dirt, his fingers itched to pick it up, swing it slash it cut cut cut cut cut- Tommy shook his head just a little. Family habits.

"There's nothing to talk about. Hand over the disc or Tubbo dies."

"Dream, wa-"

"You have ten seconds. Ten." Dream's only movement was pressing the sword just a little closer to Tubbo's neck. Tubbo winced when a small drop of blood formed, making the blade glow brighter. Tommy's stomach dropped.

"Nine."

"Tommy, don't give it to him." Tubbo's voice was raw, it was clear he was trying not to cry. Tommy looked to the sword on the grass, was it even an option? No, Dream would surely kill Tubbo before Tommy could get to him. 

"Eight."

"No, Dream, stop, you need me and the only way to control me is to have him to use as a threat. Dream, stop." Tommy's hands were clenched, he was mostly just hoping it would work.

"Seven."

Fuck. Tommy looked at his friend, their eyes locking. Tubbo nodded the tiniest bit, trying to hold back tears. Tommy's lip wobbled, his body felt weak and cold. What could he do, what could he do? Cut, slash, shred, cut- no! There had to be another way! Think, think, think-

"Six."

Stab, stab, stab, he could impale Dream and Dream would-- no, Tubbo would be dead before Tommy could even pick up the sword. "Tubbo, you can't- don't-- I'm not letting you die, but the discs- fuck!" He smacked his forehead. Why was it so hard? Every thought felt like molasses, every word felt slow and foreign. Had Dream splashed him with something?

"Five."

"No, you've worked so hard for this. Toms, you deserve it. Just let me die, I've lived my life. My time is up, I'll be with Wilbur again. Maybe there will be a ghost-me for you to talk to!" Tubbo's voice was shaky, his eyes were red.

"I don't want a ghost you! I want you, and the discs, and I want us to all be happy again like we used to be! It's-- fuck, why didn't we see this coming?"

"Four."

"Choose the discs! Choose the discs, Tommy! For fuck's sake, please let me die!" Tubbo sounded frantic, and Tommy started openly crying. It hurt, it hurt, it felt like his body was tearing in two. Cut, slash, stab-

"Please, please, Dream, I'll do anything! All my armor, I'll work for you forever and ever and give you all my supplies and have nothing but the discs and Tubbo, please let me have this one fucking thing!"

"Three."

Sun glinted off Dream's mask, so white it was almost blinding. Tommy leaned against a tree, hands clamped over his mouth. What could he do, what could he do? There was no time to think, no time for him to get a real word in, wh-

"Two."

"Tommy please let me die! Tommy, don't worry, we'll be together someday and you can tell me what an amazing person you've become and we'll listen to the discs and Wilbur will play the guitar and we'll go swimming together and we'll laugh around the campfire as a family and we'll be able to laugh because we'll both be-!"

"One."

Tommy lunged forward, and time seemed to slow. "No, I choose Tubbo! I choose Tubbo! Please, please, stop, I'll give you the discs! They're yours, they're yours, I promise, please-"

Tubbo crumpled to the ground.

He feel without grace, as nobody was there to catch him.

His blood was already staining the snow when Tommy fell to his knees. 

"No, no, no no no no no no, I chose him! I chose him! Why did you kill him? Why-- kill me. Dream, kill me. Please, Dream please kill me pleasekillme-"

Dream tossed his sword aside and crouched, so he and Tommy were eye level. 

And he laughed.

So hard he could barely breathe. Tommy buried his face in Tubbo's shoulder, trying to find some semblance of comfort from the quickly cooling body.

"Tommy, I'm not going to kill you. The plan was never to kill you. The plan was never to give you the discs!"

"Well your plan fucking failed. I have a disc and I'm going to die whether you like it fucking not." Tommy's voice was weak, raw from emotion and pain. He wished he could just flip a switch and be gone, be with his best friend.

"The plan worked perfectly. Tubbo died knowing you would choose a music disc over him."

"He didn't- I didn't-- I chose him. I chose him."

"It would take most people a fraction of that time to choose someone important to them. You waited until the last second. He was dead the second I said one, and you waited until after to make your choice, when it was already locked in by your lack of action."

Tommy's mouth was dry. "I'm going to die. And you'll never have the satisfaction of holding Mellohi again." It was an awful argument, he knew, but what was the point in debating Dream?

"Tommy, that disc was fake."

The air seemed gone from the world. "What?"

"Do you really think I'd play the real disc right in front of you and not put it in an ender chest right after? I thought you would have learned by now."

"No. No. You're joking."

"You'll never know if I am or not, I suppose." Dream shrugged, standing. "I've had my fun. Kill yourself if you want to, I really don't care. We both know you can't beat me, even with an army behind you."

Tommy didn't bother answering. Before Dream was even really gone, Tommy placed a flower on Tubbo's chest, carefully arranging him so it looked like he was sleeping. Tommy slowly pulled out his compass and read the inscription.

"Your Tubbo," he whispered. "Your Tubbo."

He placed the compass with Tubbo's, resting near his body, and turned to face the cliff. 

"I guess this is it, then. See you on the other side."

And with that, Tommy hurled himself off the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT SHIPPING. This is all platonic!


	14. Found family (SBI fluff)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Mentions of past violence (slight)
> 
> Setting: AU where the wars finally end and they can all be normal again (and wilbur comes back to life lmao 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> headcanon that phil can't handle seeing someone in need, and he's always had a warm home, so he gives back in every way he can, taking care of whoever needs it (so basically adopted SBI but i made the family group bigger bc ranboo and tubbo's dynamics go brrrrr)

"C'mon, are you kidding? We can't sleep now." Tommy groaned, leaning back further into the cushions. The fire was crackling joyfully and the conversation had been light until Phil suggested everyone turn in. 

"Children should be in bed," Wilbur joked. He earned a halfhearted punch in the arm. Ranboo laughed, tucking his knees up on the seat, and ruffled Tommy's hair. 

"I think we deserve a few more minutes all together, yeah?"

"Now you're taking his side?" Wilbur groaned, tossing his arms up. "I just can't win." He tried to stay serious for a moment before laughing, and tucking a thick blanket further around his shoulders. "I'm just kidding. We probably should sleep, but..."

"But the fire is so nice," Tubbo sighed, pulling the blanket further around him and blinking slowly.

Phil groaned, pretending to be exasperated, but his wings were tucked neatly behind him, and he seemed relaxed, giving away the act. He never used to look so calm. Honestly, none of them had. It took everyone quite some time to get used to living in such warm safety. At first Techno had started picking fights, and Wilbur tried running away, but they eventually settled into the feeling, and nights like these became more common. Keeping the freezing chill of the snowy mountains away with just a fire and some cocoa, jokes and stories were swapped.

"Just a couple more minutes." Techno couldn't help but crack a grin as well, glancing to Tommy and Tubbo. They were huddled under the same blanket, each slowly sipping hot chocolate long gone lukewarm. If anyone knew how much that meant, it was Techno. He'd sat by Tommy's side night after night during his exile, shoving down the voices and the urge to kill, stab, slice, so he could say that the two would be reunited someday.

Phil laughed quietly, shaking his head. "You lot are going to be the death of me."

"I bet age gets him first," Tommy giggled. Ranboo about choked on his cocoa, sending both Tommy and Tubbo into fits of laughter, which dragged everyone else with them. Maybe it was the sense of family radiating from their little circle, maybe it was the night air, maybe it was a lack of sleep, but they all laughed far longer and harder than normal, until everyone was wiping tears from their eyes.

"Fine, fine, we can sit a while longer." Truth be told, Phil didn't want to leave. It felt so nice and safe, even though they were out in the open without armor. Armor had been a difficult habit to break, right after violence. It felt so nice to finally not be on edge, though, that all the work paid off and then some.

TO BE CONTINUED\


	15. Cold (exile arc) [Wilbur & Tommy angst]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im back babey  
> and with wilbur angst no less
> 
> TW/CW: Depressed thoughts, suicide

It was cold. Why was it cold? Hell was supposed to be hot. Everyone spoke of how Hell must be like the Nether, full of lava and creatures that would terrify any kid. But it wasn't. It was just a barren field with nothing in it. Wilbur spent his days and nights (though there was no real sense of night and day) wandering, hoping to eventually find someone or something.

He never did.

Maybe Hell was different for everyone. After all, the worst punishment would probably need to be tailored to you, specifically. His had been chosen well. Wilbur hated feeling like he wasn't being useful, hated being without purpose. Here, where the ground was smooth and flat, stretching out seemingly to infinity without any flaws, there was no purpose. Nothing to do, nobody to talk to.

So he sang. All the time. Wilbur spent his time wandering and humming, not needing to rest. The one upside of being dead, he supposed. Wilbur wished he needed to sleep sometimes, even a nightmare would be better than such monotony. Or maybe a true lack of purpose, so he didn't feel like there was something missing all the time. Wilbur knew his short life on Earth was pointless to hold on to, but it just felt like his life had ended so suddenly. His story didn't feel like it was over.

Just as he was about to rest, to take a break for no reason other than boredom, Wilbur quite suddenly found himself... somewhere. It wasn't L'Manburg, or anywhere on the SMP that he recognized. He looked around curiously, trying to keep his cool. Soft night rain dampened his hair, and Wilbur found himself reaching out to touch it. Nothing was wet or dry or felt like much of anything where he'd been.

"...Wilbur? Did it work?" Tommy's voice was soft, nervous, and Wilbur startled.

"Did what work? Where am I?" Wilbur turned to the source of the noise and found his younger brother looking... worse for wear. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired, clothes torn and dirty. "Are you alright? What's going on?"

"You... okay, I think it worked." Tommy slumped down, clearly relieved. "I was scared I was gonna end up with some half-baked Wilbur. Do you remember everything? Everyone? How did you die?"

"I remember just fine, what are you-"

"Okay, okay, okay." Tommy took a deep breath. "Sorry, this must feel really weird. You were just Ghostbur, and you couldn't remember anything. Do you remember being Ghostbur?"

"I- no." Wilbur blinked hard. Had he been Ghostbur? Could that have been him for weeks or months, and he'd fully forgotten, thinking the switch from endless glassy floors to the forest and the cold was instantaneous. "I don't... think so. But I could be wrong, it might have been me. Where are we?" He didn't really want Tommy to ask where Wilbur had been, what had happened to him. 

"Logstedshire."

"Which is...? Did you found a new nation after L'Manburg blew up? What happened after I died, how long has it been?" Wilbur took a seat by his brother, running fingers through his wet hair, reveling in the sensation of feeling something other than constant numbness.

"It's been a few months. Er, this isn't exactly a nation. It's just me out here. We're about a full day's boat ride from L'Manburg, if I'm remembering correctly. Um, after you blew up L'Manburg we rebuilt it over the craters. I.... I accidentally burned down George's house, and then Tubbo exiled me because Dream built a fucking obsidian wall and told us if I stayed then we would all die."

"Oh." Wilbur felt frozen in place. He'd been right all along, L'Manburg was no longer the same. It hadn't been the same since they lost it the first time, really. "That's.... not good. I suppose a lot can happen in a few months."

"I suppose." Tommy looked even more horrible up close, when Wilbur looked. His face was dry and smudged with dirt, there were bandages on his arms, probably to keep him warm, and there were badly patched rips and holes everywhere. He carefully plucked a twig out of Tommy's snarled hair.

"So, exile. How's that been?"

"It's been.... I don't know. Bad. Nobody's visited me. Tubbo, Phil, Ranboo, not even Techno. It's just me, you- er, Ghostbur, and Dream most days." Tommy shrugged, but his voice was getting all choked up. Wilbur put a hand on his back and patted softly.

"I'm sorry nobody is there for you. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I mean-- you're allowed through the portal. You can go home, maybe ask Phil to come visit me. Tell Tubbo I'm sorry."

"Show me." Wilbur stood, and Tommy slowly followed suit. The boy stumbled a few times, foot catching on easily avoidable bumps in the ground. Wilbur frowned. "Are you doing okay? You seem kind of.... I don't know, off."

Tommy laughed breathlessly, hopping into the swirling purple mist. "I'm feeling pretty fucked up right now. Come on, follow me."

The path was precarious, but it looked like Tommy knew where to step. He jogged over the loose planks even on the thin bits, making Wilbur wonder if he truly knew what he was doing or if he just had a death wish. Either way, he stepped in the same spots and didn't fall.

"This is it," Tommy said softly. Wilbur looked up and recognized the portal immediately. "You can go in, I can't follow you though. Tell Phil and Tubbo I'm sorry, that I didn't mean to, okay? They don't have to visit me."

"I'll ask them to come with, okay?"

"They won't want to." Tommy shrugged, leaning up against a wall. "But alright."

Wilbur waved, stepping into the portal. "See you in a few."

"See you."

It was chilly in L'Manburg, but a familiar kind of chill. The wind sent leaves dancing around the hills, but didn't quite have the power to put out the torches lining the wooden paths. Wilbur followed the main road, marveling at how much had changed. He looked around, hoping to see a familiar face, and saw a figure standing on one of the raised wooden platforms that seemed to comprise L'Manburg's new setup.

"Hey, you! Hello!" Wilbur waved, speeding up to jog to whoever it was. He felt gloriously real, reminded quite suddenly of how he hadn't been able to feel a pulse slamming in his ears, or gasp for breath after running, or feel wooden boards underneath his feet for what seemed like years. It made him want to sprint right past the person, jump and run and scream as he danced over the hills- but he stopped, settling to grin at the person. "Hi."

"Hi, Ghostbur." The voice wasn't familiar. "What's new?"

"I... you're new, huh." Wilbur tilted his head. "What's your name?"

"I... Ranboo. Did you lose more memories? I can help with that if you need, like last time." Ranboo turned so he was in the light, and Wilbur fought down the urge to jump back. He settled for not looking him in the eyes.

"No, I remember more now. It's just Wilbur at the moment, not Ghostbur. You didn't know me. Can you walk me to Phil's house?"

"Really? You're not messing with me, right?" Ranboo practically bounced up and down with excitement. Wilbur nodded tentatively, and Ranboo grinned wide, grabbing one of his hands. "Ooh, Tommy talks about you all the time! I've wanted to meet you forever. Phil's going to love this. C'mon, follow me."

It turned out Ranboo was quite a pleasant person to talk to. Wilbur found himself actually laughing a few times on the walk up, before Ranboo stopped at an unfamiliar door. "Is this it?"

"Yep. He should be home right now. Anything else you need?"

"I'm good. Thank you for walking me up here." Wilbur managed a grin, and watched as Ranboo turned and walked back the way they'd came. He kept watching until Ranboo's back entirely disappeared before knocking on the door. Phil pulled it open almost right away, grinning tightly when he saw it was Wilbur.

"Hey, Wil. Need anything?"

"I'm here on behalf of Tommy. Can we talk?"

"...Wilbur?"

"Yeah?" Wilbur tilted his head. "Who else would it be?"

"Are you Ghostbur or Wilbur?" Phil's voice was tense, and Wilbur couldn't tell which answer he wanted to hear.

"I'm Wilbur. Tommy managed to bring me back a bit ago."

"Are you messing with me?" It sounded like Phil was close to tears.

"I'm not. Jeez, calm down, you look like you've just seen a ghost." Wilbur couldn't help the awful pun, and he was expecting Phil to groan and laugh, but was instead swept into a tight hug. "You okay?"

"I am now." Phil pulled back, stepping aside to allow Wilbur in. "What did you need?"

"Tommy's got a message for you and Tubbo. Do you know where he lives?"

"Of course, we can grab him real quick, he doesn't live so far away." Phil grabbed a coat and didn't wait to see if Wilbur was prepared before pushing past him and striding down the path. Wilbur took pride in the fact that his dad knew he was capable without instruction, following easily.

They made light conversation, and Wilbur appreciated that they didn't get into any deeper conversation topics. If he started talking about death or how pointless and lonely the afterlife was, he would cry, and nobody wanted to deal with that.

Phil knocked on the door, and Tubbo answered fairly quickly. Wilbur looked him up and down. Nothing had changed, that was relieving. He'd been half expecting to see Tubbo missing a leg or something.

"Wilbur's got a message from Tommy."

"Oh. Alright." Tubbo stepped outside, shivering at the night air, and closed the door behind him. Wilbur gestured back to the portal, taking a step in that direction.

"Actually, I was thinking we could go through and say hi to him. He's on the other side and is convinced you all hate him. I think he really needs you two, y'know? Not visiting him is taking its toll."

"You know where he is?" Tubbo brightened considerably.

"Of course?" Wilbur furrowed his brow, but opted to ignore the statement. He didn't want to pile worry on top of himself so soon. "Here, follow me."

Once again, the tone was quiet and light as the group made their way to the portal. Wilbur hopped up the past few steps, explaining how Tommy seemed really out of it. "So c'mon, let's all go say hi to him."

He stepped into the portal, shoving down the familiar gut-twisting feeling that came with Nether portal traveling, and watched Phil and Tubbo follow suit. It took longer than usual for them to all teleport, but when it worked they all came out at once. 

Wilbur hopped out of the portal, looking around for Tommy, and found him staring down at the lava. He opened his mouth to greet Tommy, but the words dried up in his throat when Tommy pushed off, plunging headfirst to the molten ocean below.

Tubbo screamed something incoherently and raced to the edge. Wilbur did the same, staring in horror, but Phil didn't bother stopping. He unfurled his wings and dove, diving headfirst after Tommy.

There were a few seconds where it looked like Tommy would hit the ground, but with a single flick of his wings Phil darted over and grabbed him. Wilbur let himself breathe again when Phil fully opened his wings and began the climb back up.

He set down softly, immediately falling down to kneel on the ground, arms still wrapped protectively around Tommy. Wilbur paused, not knowing what to do. What could he say? What could possibly-

Tommy was crying.

He was crying.

Tommy never cried. He had barely cried as a kid, and as the years went by it became almost unheard of for him to even get choked up. But there was no mistaking it with the way Tommy was clutching the front of Phil's shirt, openly sobbing into his chest.

Phil patted his hair, clearly holding back tears of his own. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay. You'll be okay. You'll be okay." He looked up to Wilbur and Tubbo, gesturing for them to join the hug. The two exchanged a glance, and Wilbur nodded quickly before kneeling and wrapping his arms around his family softly.

The world seemed to melt away as Tommy's sobs quieted, and soon it was just the four of them quietly sitting together, unmoving despite the amplified heat. It was going to be okay, Phil had said.

Slowly, Wilbur realized he was right. He had died and somehow come back, Dream was terrorizing his citizens, Tommy had been exiled, and they were all, in their own unique ways, alone for a time, but it was going to be okay.

He was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me an embarrassingly long time lmao


	16. Graves (after) [Dream, Wilbur, Niki, Tommy angst]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before I list the setting and such, I'd like to say that this was heavily inspired by another fic! I have permission from the fantastic authors to post this, and I suggest you go read the original because I'm scared I won't do it justice: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27448039
> 
> The original authors!  
> buisedbutlovely, Diamantspitzhacke (RedSoleWrites), monochromiac, RedMint_Tea 
> 
> CW/TW: Mild body horror, death, dissociation, implied insanity
> 
> Setting: "after" all the SMP events

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *note: in the original fic, Fundy was in place of Tommy, but I opted to change that because this is, after all, an SBI fic, and I think it would add a little kick in light of the recent events

There is a graveyard in the back of the SMP where the gravestones have no names.

There is a graveyard in the back of the SMP, amid the ashes of what used to be L’Manburg.

There is a graveyard in the back of the SMP where people swear they see things, where the air is chilly even in August, where you can hear whispers if the moon is high and the night is clear.

***

When the graveyard was first set up, right on the heels of a war the shell-shocked citizens were still struggling to comprehend, it had been busy. The graves were clean, standing up straight and true despite the crowds. Years had passed since then, however, leaving the graveyard perpetually empty. Whispered rumors began to fly through the small towns, scaring their citizens into staying away. The rubble that had once been L'Manburg was haunted, they said. The graveyard was no longer safe.

It was funny, Dream thought, how people loved the dead. Brought them gifts, wept at their graves, wished for another chance to talk with them. But as soon as they did come back, ready to wrap ghostly arms around loved ones, people fled. He'd seen it happen time and time again, now was no different. You can't glorify someone who is right in front of you.

For a while he had reveled in that, knowing that just by being there, the ghosts had driven everyone they loved away. It was an even crueler punishment than death. Dream smiled when he thought of how perfectly he had accomplished his goals. Sure, he had killed, but his blade didn't discriminate sinner from saint. If Dream was going to hell, he planned to go down spectacularly.

But it didn't last long. The joy of killing, the elation at knowing how many lives he had ruined, it all faded in the light of day. He had done horrible things. Dream shoved down the thoughts reminding him of his wrongdoings, and continued on as before. A measure of guilt snuck up on him sometimes, sure, but he had more to worry about than a little nagging voice.

What was it that Techno had said, finally turning his back on Dream? "You won't be happy until everyone who has ever cared about you is rotting in hell, awaiting your entry. Because make no mistake, you won't live forever. And once you're gone, I'm sure everyone who you've made suffer will show you just what they think of you."

Dream had scoffed at the time, laughing at Techno as he walked steadily away. He easily covered up the ice-cold fear the words had struck into his head, patching it with the burning need to kill, destroy, ruin.

But even then, a little bit of Dream had wondered if it was a mistake. There was already blood coating his hands, even his friends flinched back when he got too excited, his job was done. So why didn't he stop? Why didn't he just put down the sword, let the future be better? He could have done it. Could have built a new life for himself, prove to the world that he wasn't the monster they thought he was.

But he had crushed that doubt. There was no part of him that Dream wanted to be kind. He was a whip, striking hard and fast, when his enemies least expected it. Why change? He had been born to kill.

Nobody was safe, he had picked them down to their last lives before seeing any kind of reason. Dream had barely stopped himself from finally doing the one thing he'd been waiting for all those years. The true end of L'Manburg. The spirit lived in the people, they said, so Dream had made the ultimate plan. He played the long game, and eventually wore them down to the breaking point. Just one arrow, one well timed shot, he could be done with it. Set down his weapons for good. Go be happy.

Breathe in, breathe out, shoot. A mantra as familiar as the back of his own hand. Dream's fingers had twitched on the bow, and he almost let the string slip. If he had, he might have found closure. 

But as he had looked out over the former residents of L'Manburg, who barely resembled the young people who had built a country and fought for it so bravely, he couldn't see the spirit of the nation anymore. He saw their dull eyes, their tearstained cheeks, their silent resolve...

And Dream aimed for the sky.

***

Dream walked away that day, assuming that the worst of it was over, and hadn't looked back. He didn't regret his choice, he'd make it a hundred times more if he had to, but the guilt stayed. It ate at him day and night, whispering about all that he'd done. As soon as he'd let the fire of hate be snuffed, it was replaced with cold guilt. Or maybe the fire had just been covering it up. Dream would probably never know.

He went from driven, well spoken, and intelligent in every sense of the word to somber and quiet, spending his days in a haze of misery. What had he done, Dream asked himself. What had he done? As the days went by, he found there was more and more to be unearthed. The scars on his arms, the ones he'd almost forgotten about, were from Niki's nails as she desperately tried to remove Dream's hands from her neck. In the end, despite the fight she had put up, Niki died much like she lived: quietly.

Dream could recall the glee he had felt when the light in her eyes finally snuffed, when the blood on his hands was still fresh. He'd so been proud of himself back then. Every time he remembered how happy he was to watch people stop struggling and give in to his blade, Dream felt sick to his stomach. Needless to say, he found himself nauseous most of the time.

His friends tried to talk him out of the slump, turn him back to the person he once was, but they sickened him as well. There were nights when George had to hold him down because he was screaming, screaming, screaming and he wouldn't - couldn't - stop, because they had let him. They sat by and let him. His friends knew of the bloodshed, it was no secret. He boasted about it plenty often, enough that they knew everything he'd done. And they hadn't cared. They hadn't cared one bit.

Sometimes Sapnap would try to bring it up, how happy they had once been. The three of them, the Dream Team, falling like thunderbolts. How they'd been in the moment, adrenaline pushing them forward, spurring them on faster. They used to be such a beautiful team. Dream knew his friends' body language like the back of his hand, they could communicate without meeting eyes once. 

And sometimes, yes, Dream missed that. But the context for it, the blood, the screaming... he never wanted to be like that again. 

Where had he gone wrong, Dream often wondered. What had lead him to kill with such brutal passion? 

There was never any answer. But Dream hadn't expected one.

So he had run away. Far, far away, from the mountain where he'd been living with George and Sapnap for all the years since the SMP lands were demolished. He hadn't even glanced back at the rubble when he left, but suddenly he needed to be there. Needed to see for his own eyes what had become of the countries so many of his friends would have died for.

Weeks went by where Dream was alone, wandering the land on horseback, searching in vain for a familiar landmark. He was living meal-to-meal, no longer the powerful man he'd once been. 

When he saw the portal he could have cried of relief. Finally, something he knew. This portal was one of the further out spots, but Dream would walk the entire Nether and back if it meant he could alleviate the guilt. He stepped in, familiar gut-wrenching feeling enveloping his body, and stepped out to face the hellish heat of the Nether. 

The Hub wasn't far. Dream hadn't bothered with eating anything beforehand, but when he was reminded of the stakes he bit a golden apple. He found his way easily, not needing to use his shield even once. Dream had sat there for several minutes, staring at the portal and dreading what's he'd find on the other side. The Overworld held memories and secrets Dream wasn't sure he wanted to face.

But he had stepped in, cold hitting him like a slap to the face. He had looked over the rubble of L'Manburg, the gaping crater of a once beautiful and strong city, and murmured only a few words: "What have I done?"

***

Dream only knew of one person that stayed in L'manburg after its destruction. He wasn't sure if the man still wandered among the piles of brick and glass left over from the explosions, but he didn't want to risk it. He had built up a little shack and stayed in it, waiting til night to wander the land. He purposefully put it up as far from the graves as he could, but their presence haunted him anyway, a gruesome reminder of what happened. Of what he'd done.

Dream snapped back to the present. He didn't know how he'd ended up there. The last thing he remembered was drifting off to sleep, and now... he stared down at the gravestones, a chill raking its way up his spine. Even Dream knew better than to visit a graveyard without offerings for the spirits, especially the spirits of those he had killed in cold blood.

Niki. Wilbur. Tommy. The names struck cold regret into his heart. Dream's heart ached especially when remembering how Tommy had died. Indirectly Dream's fault. He hadn't pushed Tommy off... but he wouldn't have been up on that roof if it wasn't for Dream and his stupid desire to destroy people's lives. 

"I.... I'm sorry." He whispered quietly, staring at the dirt, knowing what was beneath it. "This is all my fault. I can't ever make it up to you, but just know I will hate myself until the day I die, knowing what I've done."

'Not enough,' the trees seemed to whisper. 'Not enough.'

"I know," said Dream. "But I will make it enough." And with that, he turned and left the graveyard.

The next night, Dream returned again, struggling to climb up the hill. His stupid mask made it difficult to breathe, ceramic not exactly being an airy material. He debated taking it off, but... no. Not tonight. He would make it there someday, but not tonight. Not tonight. Dream labored up the final incline and stood for a moment over the crater, watching the moon wash over the rocks. It was beautiful, in a horrible sort of way. 

Dream placed the offerings down. He'd put thought into all of them. Honey for Niki, because she had always been far sweeter than he deserved. A little doll made of twigs wrapped in twine for Tommy, because he had been robbed of a real childhood. A candle for Wilbur, who never failed to find a bright solution to any problem. The offerings were shitty, Dream had barely known them in life. Sure, he'd spoken to them, but that wasn't the same. He'd been manipulating them from the start, how they talked to him had never been important.

But now it was, and Dream knew he'd never do it again. What did their voices even sound like? 

"I'm sorry. I... I was wrong and I was stupid and I was awful to all of you. Your deaths are on me, and if you can hear this just know that I regret it. I regret who I've been. I want to change for the better. Rebuild a new life. I'll live with my guilt and try to make the most of what I can have." He tried to force cheer into his tone.

'Not enough.' The little wind-whispers seemed louder. The breeze swirled a little faster, kicking up some leaves and almost snuffing Wilbur's candle. 'Not enough.'

"I know it's not, I know. I know." Dream knelt by the graves. "I don't know if I'm going crazy or not, but... I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you if it takes me the rest of my life." He looked at each stone sincerely before standing, brushing dirt off his clothing. "I'll be back again tomorrow."

And he was. The next night, and the night after that, and the night after that. Phil left a sign telling him to go away, but Dream took it down and ignored the words. He left his own to apologize, and Phil didn't bother writing back. Dream probably didn't deserve as much anyway.

***

The dead and their secrets began to haunt him. Dream spent his nights pacing the old graveyard, pretending he didn't notice how the wind seemed strangely like whispers, how shadows slid between trees in the corner of his vision. Because after all, the dead don't talk.

Weeks went by. He started a stash of small gifts for the spirits. Pretty rocks and things. Dream wasn't even sure they would do anything. Nothing bad had ever happened to him in the graveyard... but at the same time he didn't want to take the risk. Sometimes he laughed at the irony of that. Just a year ago he would have taken any and all risks for his own gain, but now he was scared to upset a ghost.

Soon enough he started hearing the whispers often, even when it wasn't windy. They seeped through the walls, chasing him from dreams into nightmares and back, throwing him violently into a day that didn't much differ from his restless nights. They were indecipherable, but every so often he could make out a word, pick out a voice that stood out a little more than usual. One time he heard a girl talking, another someone singing. It was infuriating to never know about what - or who - they spoke of.

Dream found, soon enough, that the easiest way to hear the whispers was to pick up a weapon or tool. Any sort worked, really, but swords and axes were the worst. His eardrums thrummed with what he heard and what must lie right under the surface, the real untangled words. Dream tried to work around it, chop trees at odd hours of the day, catch the voices off guard, but could you catch something in your head off guard in the first place?

Soon enough he found his ear bleeding after he chopped some vines out of the way with a sword. Then his head started to ache any time he went near a tool. Then he woke screaming after dark figures chased him through a still-standing L'Manburg, wearing Dream's own mask. That night he stood up, grabbed all his weapons and tools, and walked outside. The next morning he couldn't remember what happened, but there was a strong ringing in his ears, his head was pounding, and he was covered in dirt. Dream was sure that if he looked, he would find a freshly dug hole somewhere around the remains of L'Manburg.

Still, Dream wanted answers. He needed to know what the voices whispered, needed closure. If he was going to put their souls to rest, he wanted to know how. He visited the graves one night, climbing up the path he'd hacked into the cliffside before he'd thrown out his pickaxe, and froze when he found someone already waiting.

Phil.

He hadn't seen Phil up close even once. There were a few times that he'd see the man wandering the edge of the crater, wings lazily unfurled in the sun, or diving through the air, but Phil had never seen him in return. Dream knew how to hide. But tonight, he didn't want to. So Dream stepped inside, ignoring how the whispers turned to mutters, filling his ears with gibberish.

"Hello."

Phil jumped, turning around, then glared. "Get out. I know you're visiting them every night now. Just go away."

Dream put his hands up, as if trying to bargain. "I just want to help put them to rest," he swore. Dream knelt down by the graves, lifting up the bottom of his mask to show some form of sincerity. "I know my actions are unforgivable, but I want to amend whatever I can. And it isn't a lot, not by any means, but-"

"Stop trying to make yourself feel better." Phil's voice had a razor edge that sent the mutters spinning in circles around Dream's head. "Just leave me alone. You took everything from me, from us."

"I know. And you don't have to forgive me, but-"

"No, I don't. And I don't intend to. You don't- you don't know what you did to all of us. Look," he gestured sadly the the headstones. "I can't tell whose is whose. We lost everything. Our freedom, our nation, our children-" His voice cracked. "We lost more than you've ever had to lose, and then some. I thought you'd at least have the human decency to bury them somewhere nice."

Dream's voice was shaky when he answered. "I didn't bury them. Sapnap did."

"I should have known. You'll always be the same heartless bastard that tore apart everything I ever loved." Phil stood, practically spitting on Dream. "I lost my family, my country, my... everything I cared about is gone because of you. Wil used to say that you were a monster, and I never really understood until after it was all gone." Phil turned, leaving the graveyard.

"I hope the discs were fucking worth it."

***

There was a huff of laughter from behind Dream. He whirled around, hands flying for a sword no longer there. He scanned the trees, looked over the graves and waited for someone to slink from the shadows. "Hello?"

"It's about time." Someone said. Dream's head snapped to the side, and this time he immediately found the speaker. His mouth went dry, and his stomach dropped to the ground. How was it possible? How was he here?

Because in all his bloody, patriotic glory, Wilbur Soot sat on one of the headstones. He didn't seem real, more like a figure from a dream than a real person. He was fuzzy around the edges, lighter than the surrounding area, and Dream's eyes kept sliding off him no matter how hard he tried to focus them. "H-how are you here?"

Wilbur laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. Malice dripped from every aspect of how he moved when Wilbur stood, sauntering closer. Dream scrambled back, pulling his mask back down again. "Oh, Dream, don't you understand? I'm here for you. I'm dead. You're the reason I'm dead."

"No, I-- that was Phil." Even now, face-to-face with someone who had indirectly died by his hands, Dream was still defending himself. He looked to the stab wound on Wilbur's chest, positioned directly above his heart. "He killed you."

"Yes. And why did he do that?" Wilbur didn't wait for Dream to answer. "Because I asked him to. Because I blew up my own home. Because you told me to do it. You don't give yourself enough credit for the bloodshed you've caused, Dream. Even without meaning to you were the reason for most of the hurt that went on in L'Manburg."

Dream kept scooting back, icy fear filling his veins. Wilbur was dead, he had to be. There was no way he was still alive. Dream's breath made the inside of the mask gross and damp, but he didn't dare pull it up even a little bit. "Get away from me."

"I'm dead." Wilbur said it so matter-of-fact, like there was no disputing it. "I can't hurt you, Dream."

"None of us can." A girl's voice, behind Dream. He jumped up and whirled around, finding Niki looking sadly at him. Her hair was soaked, and her clothes dripped with ghostly water. Her skin was tinged blue, her fingers raw and red. Dream tried not to look, but he couldn't help seeing the dark handprints still clearly visible on her neck, sticking out painfully obvious against her deathly pale skin. His handprints.

"Because of you," someone said softly. Dream turned yet again, mouth going dry when he came face-to-face with Tommy. Their eyes didn't quite meet, Dream wasn't sure he'd be able to hold eye contact even if Tommy would look at him. And Dream was reminded once again of his own cruelty. Tommy's clothes were ripped and torn, there were bruises all over his arms and face, and his neck hung at an odd angle.

"I'm sorry." Dream's voice came out weak. Far too weak. Wilbur stepped forward again, and Dream could no longer take it. Spinning on his heel, he ran out of the graveyard, stumbling down the steep rocky hills, running to the last place he would be found.

The Camarvan was a relic from the old L'Manburg, from before all the wars. It was the first thing to have been set up within the borders of the country. Dream distinctly remembered it having been destroyed at least twice, but if there was anything the L'Manburg people were good at, it was rebuilding after an explosion. He shut the door and locked it, just to be safe, and turned to face what was inside.

It was barely standing, vines weaving in and around whatever bit of the van hadn't been eaten away by time. Moonlight dappled the dusty floor, unfairly beautiful on such a night. Dream sighed, ignoring the dead eats sitting in corners. Phil must have given up on keeping it clean. His fingertips trailed over cracked countertops as he tried to avoid stepping on the dark stains littering the floorboards.

It felt like the ghosts should belong here more than anywhere else. After all, this is what they fought for, was it not? The right to freedom, the right to peace. The right to a happy life. With his sword, with his hands, with his plans and his bravery and his... stupidity, Dream had destroyed it again and again and again, until there was nothing left, until the former citizens wanted to forget it ever existed. 

He didn't blame them. The haunted looks they cast him, the nervous whispers whenever he passed by. Once it had seemed so stupid, but now Dream understood. How could someone trust him? How had his friends managed to trust him? They belonged on the right side. Dream choked back a sob. What had he done? 

"It's sad, right?" Wilbur ducked through the door, not bothering to open it. Or maybe he couldn't open it if he tried. Like the difference meant much to Dream, who flinched away at the sight of his old enemy. "All our sacrifices, all the bloodshed, all the..." He had a faraway, rattled look in his eyes. "All the pain, and this is all we get. It isn't even the original. It isn't even the copy of the original. It isn't even the second copy of the original."

"I know." Dream clenched his fists, trying to hold back tears.

"This is all you let us keep, Dream. This is all we have left, and it's fucking nothing. Symbolic of our struggles, if that's the term you want to use. Destroyed again and again, but we put it back up, believing in a new day. Now, that hope is gone, and this is left to rot in the cold and the snow. It would take so little to destroy it entirely. You could do it, if you wanted to."

"I don't want to." Dream's voice wavered, he could tell Wilbur noticed. He cleared his throat. "I don't."

"C'mon Dream, for old time's sake! Maybe you should gaslight one of us again. You're my friend, right Dream? Right? All of this is for my own good, right? You want what's best for the both of us, Dream!"

"Stop." Dream's voice was weak, raspy.

"I don't think I will! Friends let friends talk! You see, we're best friends. We should hang out more often, your company is so, so fun. I just love hanging out with Dream, he has no plans to destroy my life. See? Look, Dream, we're like brothers!" Wilbur was practically dancing with sick glee. Dream tore off his mask, falling to the floor and rubbing hard at his eyes, trying to keep from crying.

Wilbur went down with him, and pulled Dream's hands from his face, holding it tightly. His hands were vice-like and freezing cold, digging into Dream's skin painfully. Dream tried to wrench his face away, but he couldn't budge. He truly began to cry, then, watching Wilbur's face split into a grin. 

"Guess that smile was too big to be real."

"Stop, stop, Wilbur, this isn't you." Dream finally found his strength and pulled away, putting his mask on lightning-quick.

"You don't know me at all." Wilbur grabbed Dream's wrist, but his grip was slightly weaker and Dream was able to wrench his hand free. "You never took the time to learn anything about me that couldn't be exploited later."

"I- that's not true." The tears were still evident in Dream's voice, and Wilbur laughed. There was no humor in the sound.

"Of course it isn't. Do you know my favorite color? How about my favorite song? What year was I born in? Huh?" Wilbur leaned closer, eyes filled with a kind of manic energy. A part of Dream knew this wasn't Wilbur, but he was afraid nonetheless. 

"I- I don't-" He choked back another sob, unable to put his reeling thoughts in order. Wilbur spun on his heel, pacing the Camarvan.

"Of course you don't. You never have, and you never will. Even if we're all trapped here because of you, we want nothing to do with you."

Dream froze. "You're trapped here?"

"On Earth." Wilbur nodded solemnly. "We were able to come and go before, whisper to you, drive you a little mad, but today you pulled us out and locked the door behind us. We can't go back."

"Go back to where?" Icy dread filled Dream's stomach, but Wilbur just smiled, turning for the door.

"Where we're going to send you."

***

Dream sat alone in the Camarvan until he stopped shaking, until his treacherous eyes stopped trying to cry. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but when he stood all of his joints cracked, and his limbs protested. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. Judging by where the moon was in the sky, Dream could guess it had been about an hour.

He followed the path up to the graveyard, cursing himself all the way. His legacy would forever be the destruction of L'Manburg, and all he was leaving behind was hurt, but he wanted to be able to put at least a few people to rest. 

Screams echoed through his mind, explosions and bloodshed piercing through every other thought that tried to form, ripping ideas to shreds. He would do this, he would do this, he would do this.

Dream quickly made a wooden pick, holding it in his hand and staring at the gate. Wilbur was nowhere to be seen, but Tommy and Niki were sitting on two of the gravestones, quietly talking. Their conversation slowed, then ceased entirely when they noticed Dream. Niki's eyes flashed to Tommy before she stood, blocking him from Dream's vision. She'd always been a brave girl, Dream hadn't given her enough credit for that. Maybe she wasn't as quiet as he'd always thought.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he promised. "I want to make things right."

"There's nothing you can do," Niki warned. But she moved aside anyhow, eyes watching Dream sharply. He shivered in the night air, chills raking their way up his back, and knelt at the grave she had been sitting on.

"Is this yours?"

Wordlessly, Niki nodded.

The second he put the pickaxe against the blank stone, Niki shrieked. Her body contorted violently as Dream dug it into the stone, drawing a shaky line down. She screamed, falling to her knees, and Tommy flew to her side. He sat, not knowing what to do, and gave Dream the most terrifying look he'd ever gotten.

"Dream. Step away from the grave." His voice was louder than it had ever been in life, and far more sure. Dream shook his head, completing the blocky letter 'N'. He moved on to the next letter, shifting to be more comfortable. When he didn't stop, when Niki's incoherent screams turned to sobs, Tommy launched himself at Dream with more force than was humanly possible.

He whirled around Dream, shrieking in his ears, flashing lights violently around his head, tugging at his hair, but Dream kept moving. He finished the letter 'I', listening as Niki grew quieter, and once again started a new letter. Tommy doubled his efforts, and within seconds Dream could tell Wilbur had joined him. His clothes were being torn, hands sharp as knives and hot as lava slicing at any exposed skin.

Dream finished the name, and Niki stilled. Wilbur and Tommy froze, looking to their friend. She stood, face tearstreaked but tranquil, injuries gone as if they had never existed, and smiled softly. "Thank you," She whispered, before fading away.

Dream took a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against the stone, and moved on. Tommy's eyes were wide, but he nodded at Dream when he gestured at the rock. He knelt down and began the letter 'T'.

Immediately Tommy doubled over, a grunt of pain punctuating the movement, and Wilbur stared him down. Dream could feel a set of eyes burning into his back, he didn't need to look behind to know they were there. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm going as fast as I can."

"We know." Wilbur's voice was choked up. "Put us to rest."

As soon as the 'Y' was finished, Dream groaned, collapsing against the headstone. He felt weak, like his arms couldn't lift the pickaxe again if he tried. He glanced back to see Tommy, looking more like himself than ever, smiling at his brother. 

"I'll see you soon, Wil." He waved, and disappeared.

Dream turned to the final gravestone, and Wilbur stepped out of the way. He nodded slowly. Dream took a deep breath, forcing his arms to raise. Was he really so out of shape? No, Dream realized, the effort of closing whatever metaphorical door had allowed the spirits to escape was draining him of all his energy. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, collecting his thoughts while the pick was poised over where he would begin carving. 

He pressed it in, hard, and dragged it down. Wilbur's milky eyes followed his movements. 

W

Dream began to shake with the effort, arms trembling hard. The cold suddenly felt twice as freezing, biting into his skin and making Dream shiver.

I

He stopped, head rested against the chilly rock, and panted hard. He could feel Wilbur still standing behind him, and was sure that somewhere, his little brother and Niki were waiting. So Dream pushed forward, taking a deep breath.

L

Suddenly, a warm feeling overcame him. Dream turned to find Wilbur grimacing, holding his arms out as if making a protective barrier against the cold. Dream nodded his silent appreciation, not trusting his voice. All the years he had tormented and murdered everyone Wilbur had cared about, and here he was, helping Dream anyway.

B

Dream's arms ached to the bone. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting positions slightly, trying not to keep Wilbur working for longer than was needed. He pressed on.

U

He didn't take a break, going in for the final letter. He had to finish it, he had to finish it. For the next few moments, it was just him and the pickaxe, chipping away at the final letter. He was going to set Wilbur free if he died doing it.

R

The warm veil dropped. Dream whirled around and watched as the blood melted away from Wilbur's shirt, as his eyes regained some shine, as his skin colored more vibrantly. His eyes filled with tears, and he looked at his hands, turning them this way and that.

Wilbur looked at Dream, nodding slowly. He rubbed the tears away and waved. "I'm sorry."

Dream frowned. "Sorry? For-"

Wilbur disappeared.

Dream sagged with relief. At least the nightmare was over. He hauled himself to his feet, groaning in agony at the difficultly of the simple movement, and turned around. The graves were finally marked, albeit in jagged and chipped lettering, with the names of their occupants.

And Dream could rest.

He turned, slowly walking from the graveyard, hyper aware of his the cold bit at his exposed skin. He sighed, looking out over what used to be L'Manburg, and sat down with his legs dangling over the edge.

There came a horrible cracking sound from behind Dream, like bones popping out of their sockets. He leapt up, not caring about how exhausted his body was, and stared hard at the brush. Where was it? What was it? He pulled out the pickaxe, relaxing slightly when no ghostly voices began to shriek in his ears, and waited.

When the animal finally moved into the moonlight, Dream found the question had all along been not 'what', but 'who'.

Wilbur, Tommy, and Niki stood at the edge of the forest. Well. Not exactly. They weren't themselves. Not in a terribly noticeable way, but it was fairly obvious as they moved closer. Their skin was stretched tight over their bones, there were joints where none belonged, and the looks on their faces were some Dream had never seen them wear in real life. Murderous. Bloodthirsty.

As they stepped closer, Dream shuffled back, finding his heel at the very edge of the ravine, a drop that would undoubtfully kill him.

And suddenly they were on him. Their hands burned like fire, but their eyes were cold as ice, cutting him to the bone with piercing glares. Dream fought back a scream, trying to wrestle his arms from their grasp, but it was no use. They were inhuman, and being so they were inhumanly strong. Not-Niki snarled, lips curving up into a hideous smile. "You didn't think that's all it took, did you?"

"Fool." Not-Tommy shrieked, high pitched and cruel.

"You did this to us, Dream." Not-Wilbur clenched his clawed fingers righter around Dream's arm. He found that the heat of the ghoul's bodies were burning the fabric of his cloak and sleeves. He blindly flailed his arms, trying to hit something, do anything.

"You're the reason for all of our suffering. You're why we're dead."

"You're the reason we've become monsters, Dream." Not-Niki practically sang the words, voice sickeningly sweet with false honey. Dream screwed his eyes shut, a sob ripping from his chest.

"I know!" He cried, body shaking from both weariness and emotion. "I know, I know, I know. It's my fault!"

"Knowing isn't enough." Not-Wilbur's head tilted to the side, too-wide eyes locked on Dream's. Dream turned his head, terrified. He couldn't fight back, he was weak and didn't have any weapons. There was no convincing them to stop, not now. But did he want to die? Would he fight?

The answer turned out to be yes, as Wilbur unsheathed a rusty sword. Dream, in a moment on blind panic and adrenaline-fueled strength, turned around, ripped his arms free, and jumped. 

The ground came up alarmingly fast, and Dream only had time to wonder at the irony of dying in the same way Tommy had before he hit. The wind was knocked from his lungs, his entire body screamed with pain, and it felt like he would never walk again, but Dream did not die. His mask had broken entirely, but he would live. 

Dream cursed his luck and labored to turn his head, watching in horror as the three demonic-looking creatures descended on him.

"We're not done with you, Dream." Not-Tommy's voice dripped with glee as he wrenched Dream up by one arm. This time he really did scream, unable to do more than turn his head to watch as the world flew by. Dream was lifted back up to the edge of the cliff, where Not-Wilbur touched down softly and once again unsheathed his sword. He stepped closer, and there was nothing Dream could do as the blade lined up over his heart.

One push, and it was over. Dream howled as the sword ran him through, and Not-Wilbur grinned. He stepped aside, turning to Not-Niki, and gestured to a hole in the ground. One that looked exactly like a grave.

Not-Niki softly smiled, and it was almost comforting. But then she grabbed Dream's hair, her long nails scratching his scalp, and pulled, dragging him headfirst to the grave. Skipping all fanfare, she shoved him in, watching with satisfaction as he stared up at her through terrified, tear filled eyes.

She leaned down and, with clear pride in her work, spit on his chest. The three ghouls stood around the top of the grave, watching with sick, carved smiles as Dream bled out, before pushing in the dirt.

The last thing Dream ever did was reach out for help that would never come.

***

There is a graveyard in the back of the SMP, where a rusty old sword sticks up from the earth.

There is a graveyard in the back of the SMP where they say a monster died three deaths, one for each of the people he'd wronged most. Some think he deserved it, but some are still too terrified to even whisper the story behind closed doors.

There is a graveyard in the back of the SMP where no grass will grow, no birds will sing, and no children will play.

There is a graveyard in the back of the SMP where only three of the gravestones have names.


	17. Update

Hello! Just wanted to say, if you've bookmarked this, that I'm going to be slowing the updates. I'm working on a much bigger project with a proper plot and it's taking all my energy to work on that! Thank you all for the support you've shown so far! :)

if you wanna read what i'm working on now, here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206350/chapters/71711121

no pressure to read it tho, just in case anyone wanted to see :D


	18. Broken (post-plot) [SBI & Tubbo & Ranboo]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter! something i've had saved forever in my drafts, figured something small is better than nothing :)
> 
> this is more of an outline for how i write the post-plot characters than an actual story but oh well

They're a family again, Phil says. They can all be together. Their bunch has grown in past years, but Techno, Tommy, and Wilbur are still living under the same roof as him. He tries his best to ignore the obvious signs that they're not how they used to be, that they're broken, and he keeps on pretending they love each other.

He sees it in the way Tommy flinches back when someone moves too close, in the way he hoards food in his room, the way he never takes off his armor for anyone, the way he's always on edge, waiting for something that will never come, in the way he apologizes for everything.

He sees it in the way Ranboo's eyes flick to the side, constantly terrified, in the way he clutches at his chest at odd moments, in the way he mumbles to himself, in the way he doesn't fully trust any of them, in the way he doesn't trust himself.

He sees it in the way Techno lets nobody in, in the way he won't touch his brothers, in the way his eyes glint with sudden malice while he spars, in the way he disappears and comes back hours later without warning, in the way he gets all of them perfect armor even when there's nothing they need it for.

He sees it in the way Wilbur's eyes are always haunted, in the way he clutches at heavy things like they ground him, in the way he stares off into space for hours on end, in the way he whispers to himself when he thinks nobody is looking.

He sees it in the way Tubbo hates loud noises, in the way he flinches at things across the room, in the way he clings to people but at the same time is constantly questioning if they really do like him, in the way he's stressing himself out far more than any child should need to.

Phil even sees it in himself. In the way he's constantly checking in on the kids, in the way he's always aware of possible escape routes, in the way he'll wake up with one of the kids in his arms and end up sobbing as soon as he's alone because he knows why they needed him in that moment.

But they're a family, Phil assures himself. Techno carries himself softly around the younger boys, Ranboo turns a blind eye when he catches Tommy taking food to hoard, Tubbo looks Ranboo in the eye so he can control his enderman side a little better. They sit around the table a laugh just like a real family would. No matter how many times Tubbo shrinks back, no matter how many times Ranboo jumps up unexpectedly and has to be coaxed back into his seat, they're normal. Of course they are.


	19. Shift (exile arc again) [Tommy worldbuilding]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: Mentioned gore
> 
> inspired by "i never was ready so i watched you go" by astridgracee (on ao3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> worldbuilding, and a short chapter! i just like au's and this one was so cute i had to :3

The shift was supposed to be painful, everyone knew that. Tommy had been around to see how it all went down. First the morph began, slow and barely noticeable, just some aching of the joints and slight pain in the area that was to be affected. Then whatever new growth was appearing would begin to form under the skin, eventually pushing through (or, in some cases, the skin was cut open). Then, depending on the scale of the shift, the person could be in blinding, paralyzing pain for hours to days to weeks.

Tommy had been there for Techno's shift, which was apparently more annoying than anything else. His teeth had ached for a few days and he complained of joint pain but that was pretty much it. Then, more recently, Tubbo had sprouted horns, thanks to his estranged father. That had been excruciatingly painful, as the horns were built from his bone and tapered at the tips so every new inch pushing through his skin was stretching and tearing at his skin. 

He'd also heard stories of shifts, some sounding more like campfire tales than real stories. A spider morph, who was driven insane by the pain of her extra limbs growing and stabbed herself through the heart. A fish morph that lived in the desert and couldn't find water in time. Even a bird morph, like Phil, whose wings were cut off before they were fully grown because the featherless wings led residents of their small, religious town to believe they were Hell-spawn.

However, stories of the morphs where Tommy grew up were relatively tame. Sam's creeper morph, for example, gave him a rash the receded to itching, but that was basically it. Fundy's morph had sounded more painful, since he'd grown a real tail, but he brushed it off as if it were nothing. Hell, even George's mooshroom morph didn't sound awful. His eyes grew slightly larger and he sprouted little fly agaric mushrooms from his head and shoulders. The most annoying part of it was apparently having to sew all-new clothes.

The one thing that stayed constant in the wildly varying array of possible morphs and outcomes was the attachment. When someone was morphing, their state of mind was altered to leave them more irritable (which melted away to guilt at snapping at caretakers) or more soft and open. Either way, they became closer-than-close with their caretaker. It was important beyond belief that you stayed with the right person while shifting, or the results could be disastrous. The hormones someone in a shifting state produced meant whoever was with them for extended periods of time would find themselves fond, wanting to keep them safe.

So when Tommy felt the warning signs of a shift when he just finished setting up his tent in exile, he knew it was going to be rough.


End file.
